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John Wilson 



BRnfoetsttS Press : 
and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 



PUBLISHERS' NOTE 

THE text of Rip Van Winkle, as played 
by Joseph Jefferson, is here for the 
first time published. The aim has been to sup- 
ply such illustrations and explanations as will 
best recall the play to those who have seen it. 

To this end, Mrs. CORA Hamilton Bell has, 
with Mr. Jefferson's approval, amplified and 
supplemented the stage directions, and has sup- 
plied descriptive prefaces to each act. Many 
of the illustrations are direct reproductions from 
photographs of Mr. Jefferson in the character of 
" Rip." Those in the text are mostly from draw- 
ings by Richard Creifelds, made directly 
from scenes in the play. 

The portrait is from a photograph of Mr. 
Jefferson recently taken, and is the one best 
liked by him. 

Most interesting of all, perhaps, will be the 
reproductions of paintings by Mr. Jefferson him- 
self of scenes in the Catskilt Mountains, and the 
illustration facing page 120, wherein the figure 
is by F. Eugene Smith, and the background 
by Mr. Jefferson. 



rv- 



Lias 



Page 

Portrait of Joseph Jefferson (from pho- 
tograph by Pach). Photogravure 

Frontispiece 
Old Darn in Paradise Valley. Photo- 
gravure ] 2 

Scene in Catskill Mountains (from paint- 
ing by Joseph Jefferson). Photo- 
gravure 22 

Decoration to precede Act 1 23 

Rip Van Winkle 2 5 

" I '11 show you why " 3 1 

" Are you truly miserable with Rip ?" . 34 
"Looks like the father of the village" 41 
" Well, here 's your good health." 

Photogravure 4° 

" Suppose you were to hang this bagful 

of money inside " 5 2 

''Yes, and I'll have Hendrick, too'' 

Photogravure 5^ 

" What are you readin' ? " . . • • 7 1 
Scene in the Catskill Mountains (from 
painting by Joseph Jefferson). 
Photogravure 7 6 




ri 




Ll 55 



^ /o f- luyVzMtion sj^ 



Page 
Decoration to precede Act II. ... yy 
" Shall I lay the table for two, mother, 
or for three?'' S2 



S6 

93 
106 
10S 

"4 



" Oh, dear ! did he say so ? " . . 
" There is some one outside" . . . 
" How do I know what I got to say to 

that" 

" I rolled over on the other side " . . 
" Don't cry, my daarlin' " .... 
" No ; you have driven me from your 

house." Photogravure .... 
Scene in the Catskill Mountains (from 

painting by Joseph Jefferson). 

Photogravure 116 

Decoration to precede Act III. . . . 117 
" What 's the matter with Schneider? " 

Photogravure 120 

" What a funny thing is that a comin' 

up the hill ? " . . o . . . . 121 

"Well, I'll help you" 125 

"What for licker is that ! "' . . . . 1^:1 





Jiof' luyrszMztonbifa 



Scene in the Catskill Mountains (from 

painting by Joseph Jefferson). 

Photogravure 

Decoration to precede Act IV. . . . 

"Oh, I feel very bad ! " 

" My gun must have cotched the rheu- 

matix too " 

" Why, is that the Village of Falling 

Waters?" 

" Oh, you shall pay for this ! " . . . 
" Why, what queer looking creature is 

this?' - 

"No. She's alive" 

" No one remembers Rip Van Winkle.'' 

Photogravure 

" If vou come home to-day with red 



eyes 



136 

137 
140 



M3 
149 



154 
164 



176 



"That's just the way I feit for 
Gretchen " 

" One moment, my dear " . . 

"Ah, my child! Somebody knows 
me now ! Photogravure . . . 



1S2 
185 



iSS 




INTRODUCTION. 



"DIP VAN WINKLE has been received by 
the American public for so many years 
that I feel emboldened to bespeak a little of 
your favour for his new appearance in another 
form. This version, now printed for the first 
time, may be regarded perhaps as a souvenir 
of a greater number of performances than I 
can possibly count, and as such I hope may 
be acceptable. 

I have endeavoured to select from my Auto- 
biography (with the kind consent of the Cen- 
tury Company) such passages relating to the 
history of the play and my performance of the 
part as may be of interest to the readers of 
this volume, and to give the desultory gossip 
of the Autobiography a rather more historical 
sequence. 

I can lay no claim to having invented Rip. 
The Greeks knew him; the Germans made a 



io INTRODUCTION. 

home for him in their Hartz Mountains, calling 
him Carl, the Shepherd ; and the genius of 
Washington Irving transplanted him to our 
own Kaatskills. Yates, Hackett, and Burke had 
each made him the hero of separate dramas and 
representations before I tried my hand upon 
the legend. 

The idea of acting Rip Van Winkle came to 
me in the summer of '59. I had arranged to 
board with my family at a queer old Dutch 
farm-house in Paradise Valley, at the foot of 
Pocono Mountain in Pennsylvania. A ridge of 
hills covered with tall hemlocks surrounds the 
vale, and numerous trout-streams wind through 
the meadows and tumble over the rocks. Stray 
farms are scattered through the valley, and the 
few old Dutchmen and their families who till 
the soil were born upon it; there and only 
there they have ever lived. The valley har- 
monised with me and our resources. The scene 
was wild, the air was fresh, and the board was 
cheap. What could the light heart and purse 
of a poor actor ask for more than this? 

On one of those long rainy days that always 
render the country so dull, I had climbed to 
the loft of the barn, and, lying upon the hay, 



INTRODUCTION. 1 1 

was reading that delightful book, " The Life 
and Letters of Washington Irving." I had got 
well into the volume, and was much interested 
in it, when, to my surprise, I came upon a 
passage which said that he had seen me at 
Laura Keene's theatre, as Goldfinch, in Holcroft's 
comedy of "The Road to Ruin," and that I 
reminded him of my father "in look, gesture, 
size, and make." Till then, I was not aware 
that he had ever seen me. I was comparatively 
obscure, and to find myself remembered and 
written of by such a man gave me a thrill of 
pleasure I can never forget. I put down the 
book, and lay there thinking how proud I was, 
and ought to be, at the revelation of this com- 
pliment. What an incentive to a youngster like 
me to go on ! 

And so I thought to myself, " Washington 
Irving, the author of ' The Sketch-Book,' in 
which is the quaint story of Rip Van Winkle." 
Rip Van Winkle ! There was to me magic in 
the sound of the name as I repeated it. Why, 
was not this the very character I wanted? An 
American story by an American author was 
surely just the theme suited to an American 
actor. 



12 INTRODUCTION. 

In ten minutes I had gone to the house and 
returned to the barn with " The Sketch-Book. " 
I had not read the story since I was a boy. 
I was disappointed in it; not as a story, of 
course, but the tale was purely a narrative. 
The theme was interesting, but not dramatic. 
The silver Hudson stretches out before you as 
you read ; the quaint red roofs and queer gables 
of the old Dutch cottages stand out against the 
the mist upon the mountains ; but all this is 
descriptive. The character of Rip does not 
speak ten lines. What could be done dramati- 
cally with so simple a sketch? How could it 
be turned into an effective play? 

Three or four bad dramatisations of the story 
had already been acted, but without marked 
success. Yates, of London, had given one in 
which the hero dies; one had been acted by my 
father, one by Hackett, and another by Burke. 
Some of these versions I had remembered when 
I was a boy, and I should say that Burke's play 
and the performance were the best ; but nothing 
that I remembered gave me the slightest en- 
couragement that I could get a good play out 
of any of the existing materials. Still, I was so 
bent upon acting the part that I started for the 



INTRODUCTION. I3 

city; and in less than a week, by industriously 
ransacking the theatrical wardrobe establish- 
ments for old leather and mildewed cloth, and 
by personally superintending the making of the 
wigs, each article of my costume was com- 
pleted; and all this too before I had written a 
line of the play or studied a word of the part. 

This is working in an opposite direction from 
all the conventional methods in the study and 
elaboration of a dramatic character, and cer- 
tainly not following the course I would advise 
any one to pursue. I merely mention the out- 
of-the-way, upside-down manner of going to 
work as an illustration of the impatience and 
enthusiasm with which I entered upon the task. 
I can only account for my getting the dress 
ready before I studied the part to the vain 
desire I had of witnessing myself in the glass, 
decked out and equipped as the hero of the 
Kaatskills. 

I got together three old printed versions of 
the drama and the story itself. The plays were 
all in two acts. I thought it would be an im- 
provement in the drama to arrange it in three, 
making the scene with the spectre crew an act 
by itself. This would separate the poetical from 



i 4 INTRODUCTION. 

the domestic side of the story. But by far the 
most important alteration was in the interview 
with the spirits. In the old versions, they spoke 
and sang. I remember that the effect of this 
ghostly dialogue was dreadfully human, so I 
arranged that no voice but Rip's should be 
heard. This was entirely my own invention. 
I was quite sure that the silence of the crew 
would give a lonely and desolate character to 
the scene, and add to its supernatural weirdness. 
By this means, too, a strong contrast with the 
single voice of Rip was obtained by the death- 
like stillness of the " demons " as they glided 
about the stage in solemn silence. It required 
some thought to hit upon just the best ques- 
tions that could be answered by a nod and 
shake of the head, and to arrange that at times 
even Rip should propound a query to himself, 
and answer it; but I availed myself of so much 
of the old material that in a few days after I 
had begun my work, it was finished. 

In the seclusion of the barn, I studied and 
rehearsed the part; and by the end of the 
summer, I was prepared to transplant it from 
the rustic realms of an old farm-house to a 
cosmopolitan audience, in the city of Washing- 



Scene in the Catskill Mountains. 
From Painting by Joseph Jefferson. 



\ 



INTRODUCTION. 15 

ton, where I opened at Carusi's Hall, under the 
management of John T. Raymond. I had gone 
over the play so thoroughly that each situa- 
tion was fairly engraved on my mind. The 
rehearsals were therefore not tedious to the 
actors ; no one was delayed that I might con- 
sider how he or she should be disposed of in 
the scene. I had by repeated experiments so 
saturated myself with the action of the play that 
a few days served to perfect the rehearsals. I 
acted, on these occasions, with all the point and 
feeling that I could muster. This answered the 
double purpose of giving me freedom, and 
observing the effect of what I was doing on 
the actors. They seemed to be watching me 
closely, and I could tell by little nods of approval 
when the points hit. 

To be brief, the play was acted with a result 
that was, to me, both satisfactory and disap- 
pointing. I was quite sure that the character 
was what I had been seeking, and I was equally 
satisfied that the play was not. The action had 
neither the body nor the strength to carry the 
hero ; the spiritual quality was there, but the 
human interest was wanting. 

This defect was not remedied until five years 



1 6 INTRODUCTION. 

later, when I met Dion Boucicault, in London. 
Then, he agreed to rewrite the drama for a 
consideration agreed upon between us. He 
never seemed to think much of his labour in 
this play; but I did, and do still, with good 
reason. 

His version was still cast in three acts. Later, 
I divided the first act into two, making the end 
of the dance the end of an act, rather than the 
end of a scene, and enlarged and strengthened 
it in various ways suggested by my experience. 
It will thus be seen that the play is by no 
means the work of one mind, but both as to 
its narrative and dramatic form, has been often 
moulded, and by many hands. 

In acting the part of Rip, I have always 
found that what to do was simple enough, but 
what not to do was the important and difficult 
point to determine. The earlier scenes of the 
play being of a natural and domestic character, 
I had only to draw upon my experience for 
their effect. But from the moment Rip meets 
the spirits of Hendrick Hudson and his crew, 
I felt that the colloquial speech and lazy and 
commonplace actions of Rip should cease. 
After he meets the elves, in the third act, the 






INTRODUCTION. 1 7 

play drifts from realism into idealism, and be- 
comes poetical. After this, it is a fairy tale, 
and the prosaic elements of the character should 
be eliminated. 

Rip's sympathy with nature is always very 
keen, and he talks to the trees and his dog as 
if they were human. The fairy element in the 
play seems to be attached to it as the fairy 
element in a " Midsummer Night's Dream." 
And because Rip is a fairy, he neither laughs 
nor eats in the fourth act. For this reason, 
also, when they wanted me to reform at the end 
of the play, I said, "No. Should Rip refuse 
the cup, the drama would become a temperance 
play; and I should as soon expect to hear of 
Cinderella striking for higher wages, or of a 
speech on Woman's Rights from Old Mother 
Hubbard, as to listen to a temperance lecture 
from Rip Van Winkle. It would take all the 
poetry completely out of it." So one might 
suppose that when Rip wakes up, he would 
yawn; but a yawn, being expressive of a night's 
sleep, would destroy the harmony of the twenty 
years' sleep. If the sleep of twenty years were 
merely incongruous, there would be room for 
argument pro and con; but being an impossi- 



iS INTRODUCTION. 

bility, the mind accepts it, not because it is an 
impossibility, but from curiosity to know the 
psychological result if such an event could 
happen. And it is this strange and original 
attitude of the characters that has kept my 
interest in it alive for so many years. 

I have never " staged " Rip with the realism 
in fashion of late years, though I have had 
various suggestions made to me for elaborating 
the spectacular and scenic effects of the play, 
among which were the introduction of several 
fat old Knickerbockers smoking their long 
pipes and quarrelling in Dutch ; a large wind- 
mill, with sails to work ; dairy-maids, with real 
cows; mechanical effects for the sudden and 
mysterious appearance and disappearance of 
Hendrick Hudson's crew; and, in the last act, 
the Continental army with drums and fifes; a 
militia training; and the further introduction of 
patriotic speeches about American independence. 

So unreal a theme could not have been inter- 
woven with all this realism without marring 
the play. 

For this reason, when a lady once asked me, 
"Why don't you have a dog in the play?" 
I replied that I disliked realism in art; and 



INTRODUCTION. i 9 

realism alive, with a tail to wag at the wrong 
time, would be abominable. 

"But don't you think that the public would 
like to see Schneider?" 

"The public could not pay him a higher 
compliment, for it shows how great an interest 
they take in an animal that has never been 
exhibited. No, no; 'hold the mirror up to 
nature,' if you like, but don't hold nature up, — 
a reflection of the thing, but not the thing 
itself. How badly would a drunken man give 
an exhibition of intoxication on the stage ? 
Who shall act as a madman but one who is 
perfectly sane? We must not be natural, but 
appear to be so." 

So, too, I have never felt that the dialect was 
an important element in the presentation of the 
character. I do not make it so prominent or 
so consistent as they would do in a variety show. 
If I were to do that, I would destroy the larger 
element. I am a Pennsylvanian myself, and I 
lived very much among the Pennsylvania Dutch 
in the mountains, when I was studying the part, 
and I got the flavour of it; but I regard it only 
■as an accompaniment. 

I would like to repeat here a curious incident 



20 INTRODUCTION. 

connected with " Rip Van Winkle," and I have 
done. 

There is in the village of Catskill a Rip Van 
Winkle Club. This society did me the honour to 
invite me to act the character in their town. I 
accepted, and when I arrived was met by the 
worthy president and other members of the club, 
among whom was young Nicholas Vedder, who 
claimed to be a lineal descendant of the original 
"Old Nick." Emulating the spirit of evolution, 
the citizens had turned the skating-rink into a 
theatre, and a very respectable-looking establish- 
ment it made, though in its transition state the 
mark of rollers did " cling to it still." I was 
taking a cup of tea at the table in the hotel, 
when I was attracted to the coloured waiter, who 
was giving a graphic and detailed account of 
this legend of the Kaatskill Mountains to one 
of the boarders who sat nearly opposite to me. 

" Yes, sah," he continued ; " Rip went up into 
de mountain, slep' for twenty years, and when he 
came back hyar, in dis berry town, his own folks 
didn'y know him." 

" Why," said his listener, " you don't believe 
the story 's true? " 

"True? Ob course it is; why," pointing at 
me, " dat 's de man." 



INTRODUCTION. 21 

The town was filled with farmers and their 
wives, who had come from far and near to see 
the opening of the new theatre, and also, I think 
I may say, to see for the first time on the stage 
the story which Washington Irving had laid 
almost at their very doors. 

As I drove to the theatre, the rain came down 
in torrents, the thunder rolled, and the lightning 
played around the peaks of the distant moun- 
tains under the very shadow of which I was to 
act the play. It gave me a very strange sensa- 
tion. When I got to the theatre, I could scarcely 
get in, the crowd was so great about the door, — 
countrymen trying to get into the ticket-office 
instead of the proper entrance, and anxious and 
incredulous old ladies endeavouring to squeeze 
past the doorkeeper, but refusing to give up their 
tickets. The rush over, the play began. The 
audience was intent on the scene as it progressed, 
and seemed anxious not to lose a word. During 
the scene in the last act where Rip inquires of 
the innkeeper, " Is this the village of Falling 
Waters? " I altered the text, and substituted the 
correct name, " Is this the village of Catskill?" 
The crowded house almost held its breath. The 
name of the village seemed to brincr the scene 



22 INTRODUCTION. 

home to every man, woman, and child that was 
looking at it. From this time on the interest was 
at its full tension. Surely, I had never seen an 
audience so struck with the play before. 

There was a reception held at the club after 
the play, and the worthy president, in introduc- 
ing me to the company, was so nervous that he 
announced me as "Mr. Washington Irving." 

Joseph Jefferson. 

New York, 

October, 1895. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



ACT I. 
Scene i. 

The village of Falling Waters, set amid 
familiar and unmistakable Hudson River 
scenery, with the shining river itself and 
the noble heights of the Kaatskills visible 
in the distance. In the foreground, to the 
left of the stage, is a country inn bearing 
the sign of George III. In the wall of the 
inn, a window closed by a solid wooden 
shutter. To the right of the stage, an old 
cottage with a door opening into the inte- 
rior; before the cottage stands a bench 
holding a wash-tub, with washboard, soap, 
and clothes in the tub. In the centre of 
the stage, a table and chairs, and on the 
table a stone pitcher and two tin cups. 
As the curtain rises, Gretchen is discovered 
washing, and little Meenie sitting near by 
on a low stool. The sound of a chorus 
and laughter comes from the inn. 

Gretchex. 
Shouting and drinking day and night. 

Laughter is heard from the inn. 



2 8 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Hark how they crow over their cups while 
their wives are working at home, and their chil- 
dren are starving. 

Enter Derrick from the inn with a green bag, 

followed by Nick Vedder. Derrick places 

his green bag on the table. 

Derrick. 
Not a day, not an hour. If the last two 
quarters' rent be not paid by this time to-mor- 
row, out you go ! 

Nick. 
Oh, come, Derrick, you won't do it. Let 
us have a glass, and talk the matter over ; 
good liquor opens the heart. Here, Hendrick ! 

Hendrick ! Enter Hendrick. 

Hendrick. 
Yes, father. 

Derrick. 

So that is your brat? 

Nick. 
Yes, that is my boy. 

Derrick. 
Then the best I can wish him is that he won't 
take after his father, and become a vagabond and 
a penniless outcast. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 29 

Nick. 
Those are hard words to hear in the presence 
of my child. 

Hendrick. 
Then why don't you knock him down, father? 

Gretchen. 
I '11 tell you why — 

Derrick. 
Gretchen ! 

Gretchen. 

Wiping her arms and coming to front of tub. 
It is because your father is in that man's 
power. And what 's the use of getting a man 
down, if you don't trample on him? 

Nick. 
Oh, that is the way of the world. 

Gretchen. 

To Hendrick. 
Go in, boy. I want to speak to your father, 
and my words may not be fit for you to hear. 
Yonder is my little girl ; go and play with her. 

Hendrick and Meenie exeunt into the cottage. 

Gretchen. 
Now, Derrick, Vedder is right : you won't turn 
him out of his house yonder. 



3 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Derrick. 
And why not? Don't he owe me a year's 
rent? 

Gretchen. 

And what do you owe him? Shall I sum up 

your accounts for you? Ten years ago, this 

was a quiet village, and belonged mostly to my 

husband, Rip Van Winkle, a foolish, idle fellow. 

That house yonder has since been his ruin. 

Yes ; bit by bit, he has parted with all he had, 

to fill the mouths of sots and boon companions, 

gathered around him in yonder house. And 

you, Derrick, — you supplied him with the money 

to waste in riot and drink. Acre by acre, you've 

sucked in his land to swell your store. Yonder 

miserable cabin is the only shelter we have left; 

but that is mine. Had it been his, he would 

have sold it to you, Derrick, long ago, and 

wasted its price in riot. 

Vedder, who has been enjoying Derrick's 
discomfiture during this speech, is unable 
to control himself, and at the end of speech 
bursts into a loud laugh. 

Gretchen. 
Aye, and you too, Nick Vedder; you have 
ruined my husband between you. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



3 1 



Nick. 
Oh, come, Mrs. Van Winkle, you 're too hard. 
I could n't refuse Rip's money in the way of 
business ; I had my rent to pay. 

Gretchen. 

And shall I tell you why you can't pay it? it 
is because you have given Rip credit, and he 

has ended by drinking 
you out of house and 
home. Your win- 
dow-shutter is not 
wide enough to hold 
the score against 
him; it is full of 
chalk. Deny it if 
you can. 

Nick. 
I do deny it. 
There now ! 

Gretchen. 
Then why do you keep that shutter closed? 

I '11 show you why. 

Goes to inn, opens shutter, holds it open, 
pointing at Rip's score. 
That 's whv. 




32 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Nick Vedder, you 're a good man in the main, 

if there is such a thing. 

Derrick laughs. 
Aye, and I doubt it 

Turning on him. 

But you are the pest of this village ; and the 
hand of every woman in it ought to help to 
pull down that drunkard's nest of yours, stone 
by stone. 

Nick. 

Come, Dame Van Winkle, you 're too hard 
entire ; now a man must have his odd time, and 
he 's none the worse for being a jolly dog. 

GRETCHEN. 
No, none the worse. He sings a good song ; he 
tells a good story, — oh, he's a glorious fellow! 
Did you ever see the wife of a jolly dog? Well, 
she lives in a kennel. Did you ever see the 
children of a jolly dog? They are the street 
curs, and their home is the gutter. 

Goes up to wash-tub, and takes revenge on 
the clothing she scrubs. 

Nick. 

Getting up and approaching Gretchen timidly. 

I tell you what it is, Dame Van Winkle, I 

don't know what your home may be, but judg- 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 33 

ing from the rows I hear over there, and the 

damaged appearance of Rip's face after having 

escaped your clutches — 

Gretchen looks up angrily ; Nick retreats a 
few paces hastily — 

I should say that a gutter was a luxurious abode 

compared with it, and a kennel a peaceful 

retreat. 

Exit hurriedly, laughing, into the inn. Gretchen 
looks up angrily, and throws the cloth she 
has been wringing after him, then re- 
sumes washing. Derrick laughs at Ved- 
der's exit, walks up to Gretchen, and puts 
one foot on bench. 

Derrick. 
Is it true, Gretchen? Are you truly miserable 
with Rip? ^ 

Gretchen. 

Ain't you pleased to hear it? Come then and 
warm your heart at my sorrow. Ten years ago 
I might have had you, Derrick. But I despised 
you for your miserly ways, and threw myself 
away on a vagabond. 

Derrick. 
You and I shared him between us. I took his 
estate, and you took his person. Now, I 've 
improved my half. What have you done with 
yours? 



34 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



Gretchen. 

I can't say that I Ve prospered with it. I 've 

tried every means to reclaim him, but he is as 

obstinate and perverse as a Dutch pig. But the 

worst in him — and what I can't stand — is his 

good-humour. It drives me 

frantic when, night after night, 

he comes home drunk and 

] helplessly good - humoured ! 

Oh, I can't stand that! 

Derrick. 
Where is he now? 



Gretchen. 
We had a tiff yes- 
terday, and he started. 
He has been out all 
night. Only wait un- 
til he comes back! The longer he stops out, 
the worse it will be for him. 




Derrick. 
Gretchen, you 've made a great mistake, but 
there is time enough to repair it. You are 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 35 

comely still, thrifty, and that hard sort of grain 
that I most admire in woman. 

Looks cautiously around. Leans on tub 
Why not start Rip for ever, and share my for- 
tune? 

Gretchen. 
Oh, no, Derrick ; you 've got my husband in 
your clutches, but you can't get them around me. 
If Rip would only mend his ways, he would see 
how much I love him; but no woman could love 
you, Derrick; for woman is not a domestic ani- 
mal, glad to serve and fawn upon a man for the 
food and shelter she can get ; and that is all she 
would ever get from you, Derrick. 

Piling the clothes on the washboard, and 
shouldering it. 

Derrick. 

The time may come when you '11 change your 
tune. 

Gretchen. 

Not while Rip lives, bad as he is. 

Exit into cottage. 

Derrtck. 
Then I '11 wait until you 've killed him. Her 
spirit is not broken yet. But patience, Derrick, 



3 6 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

patience; in another month I'll have my claws 

on all that remains of Rip's property, — yonder 

cottage and grounds ; then I '11 try you again, 

my lady. 

Enter Cockles, with papers in his hand, run- 
ning towards the inn. 

Derrick. 
How now, you imp? What brings you here so 
full of a hurry? Some mischief's in your head, 
or your heels would not be so busy. 

Cockles. 

I 've brought a letter for you from my employer. 

There it is. 

Derrick. 

Examining letter. 
Why, the seal is broken ! 

Cockles. 
Yes ; I read it as I came along. 

Derrick. 
Now I apprenticed this vagabond to my law- 
yer, and this is his gratitude. 

Cockles. 
Don't waste your breath, Nunky, for you '11 
want it; for when you read that, if it don't take 
you short in the wind I '11 admire you. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 37 

Derrick. 

Reads. 
" You must obtain from Rip Van Winkle a 
proper conveyance of the lands he has sold to 
you. The papers he has signed are in fact noth- 
ing but mortgages on his estate. If you fore- 
close, you must sell the property, which has 
lately much advanced in value ; and it would sell 
for enough to pay off your loan, and all your 
improvements would enure to the benefit of Rip 
Van Winkle." 

Cockles. 

There, now, see what you Ve been doing of! — 
wasting your money and my expectations on 
another chap's property. Do you want to leave 
me a beggar? 

Derrick. 

Reads. 
" I enclose a deed for him to sign that will 
make him safe." 

Cockles. 
Of course he '11 sign it ; he won't wait to be 
asked — he '11 be in such a hurry. 

Derrick. 
All my savings — all my money — sunk in 
improving this village ! 



3 8 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Cockles. 
Yes, instead of physicking Rip, as you thought, 
you 've been coddling him all the while. 

Derrick. 

All these houses I 've built are on another 
man's land. What shall I do? 

Cockles. 
Pull them down again ; pull them down. 

Derrick. 
Ass ! — dolt that I have been ! 

Cockles. 
Calling yourself names won't mend it, Nunky. 

Derrick. 

The imp is right. Rip must be made to sign 
this paper. But how — how? 

Cockles. 
How? How? How 's a big word sometimes, 
ain't it, Nunky? 

Derrick. 
Rip would not do it if he knew what he was 
about. But he can't read — nor write, for the 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 39 

matter of that. But he can make his cross, and 
I can cajole him. 

Cockles. 
Look sharp, Nunky. The man that 's looking 
round for a fool, and picks up Rip Van Winkle, 
will let him drop again very quick. 

Derrick. 
He is poor: I '11 show him a handful of money. 
He's a drunkard: I'll give him a stomachful of 
liquor. Go in, boy, and leave me to work this; 
and let this be a lesson to you hereafter: beware 
of the fatal effects of poverty and drink. 

Cockles. 
Yes, — and parting with my money on bad 

security. 

Exit. Laughter outside. 

Derrick. 

Here he comes now, surrounded by all the 

dogs and children in the district. They cling 

around him like flies around a lump of sugar. 

Rip enters, running and skipping, carrying 
one small child pickaback, and surrounded 
by a swarm of others hanging on the skirts 
of his coat. He is laughing like a child 
himself, and his merry blue eyes twinkle 



4 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 

with delight. He is dressed in an old deer- 
skin coat, a pair oi breeches which had 
once been red, now tattered, patched, and 
frayed, leather gaiters and shoes equally 
dilapidated, a shapeless felt hat with a bit 
of the brim hanging loose, — the whole 
stained and weatherworn to an almost uni- 
form clay-colour, except for the bright blue 
of his jean shirt and the scarlet of his long 
wisp of a necktie. One of the boys carries 
his gun. 

Rip. 

Taking his gun from the boy. 
There, run along rnit you ; run along. 

Derrick. 

The children scamper off. 
The vagabond looks like the father of the 
village. 

Rip. 

Who has stood laughing, and watching the 
children, suddenly calls after them. 

Hey! You let my dog Schneider alone there; 
you hear that Sock der Jacob dcr bist cine for 
donner spits poo — yah — 

Derrick. 
Why, what's the matter, Rip? 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



4i 



RIP. 

Coming down, and shaking hands with Derrick. 
Oh, how you was, Derrick? how you was? 







Derrick. 
You seem in trouble. 



42 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

RIP. 
Oh, yah; you know them fellers. Veil, I tole 
you such a funny thing. 

Laughing. 

Just now, as me and Schneider was comin' along 
through the willage, — Schneider 's my dawg ; I 
don't know whether you know him ? 

Rip always speaks of Schneider at if he were 
a person, and one in whom his hearer took 
as profound an interest as he does himself. 

Well, them fellers went an' tied a tin kettle mit 
Schneider's tail, and how he did run then, mit the 
kettle hanging about. Well, I did n't hi him 
comin'. He run betwixt me an' my legs, an' 
spilt me an' all them children in the mud ; — 
yah, that 's a fact. 

Rip leans his gun against the cottage 

Derrick. 

Aside. 
Now 's my time. 

Aloud. 
Vedder ! Vedder ! 

Vedder appears at the door of the inn. 

Bring us a bottle of liquor. Bring us your best, 
and be quick. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. A * 

Nick. 
What's in the wind now? The devil 's to pay 
when Derrick stands treat ! 

Exit. Re-enters, with bottle and cups in left 
hand. Hands bottle to Derrick. 

Rip lounges forward, and perches on the cor- 
ner of the table. 

Derrick. 

Rising and approaching Rip. 
Come, Rip, what do you say to a glass? 

Rip. 

Takes a cup, and holds it to be filled. 
Oh, yah; now what do I generally say to a 
glass? I say it's a fine thing — when there's 
plenty in it. (Ve gates ! Ve gates !) 

Shakes hands with Nick. 
An' then I says more to what 's in it than I do to 
the glass. Now you would n't believe it, — that 's 
the first one I 've had to-day. 

Derrick. 
How so ? 

Rip. 

., ^ Dryly. 

Because I could n't get it before, I suppose. 

Derrick. 
Then let me fill him up for you. 



44 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Rip. 

No, that is enough for the first one. 

Nick. 
Come, Rip, a bumper for the first one. 

Rip. 

That is enough for the first one. 

Derrick. 
Come, Rip, let me fill him up for you. 

Rip. 

With ludicrous decision and dignity. 
I believe I know how much to drink. When I 
says a thing, I mean it. 

Derrick. 
Oh, well — 

Turns aside, and starts to fill his own cup. 

Rip. 

All right ; come along. 

Holding out his glass, and laughing at his 
own inconsistency. 

Here 's your good health and your families', and 

may they live long and prosper ! 

They all drink. At the end, Nick smacks his 
lips and exclaims " Ah ! " Derrick repeats 
same, and Rip repeats after Derrick. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 45 

Rip. 

To Nick, sadly. 

Ah, you may well go " Ah ! " and smack your 

chops over that. You don't give me such 

schnapps when I come. Derrick, my score is 

too big now. 

Jerking his head towards the shutter, he 
notices for the first time that it is open. 

What you go and open that window for? — 
That 's fine schnapps, Nick. Where you got 
that? 

Nick. 

That's high Dutch, Rip, — high Dutch, and 
ten years in bottle. Why, I had that in the very 
day of your wedding. We broached the keg 
under yonder shed. Don't you recollect? 

Rip. 
Is that the same? 

Nick. 
Yes. 

Rip. 

I thought I knowed that licker. You had it 
ten years ago ? 

Laughing suddenly 
I would not have kept it so long. But stop, 
mein freund ; that's more than ten years ago. 



46 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Nick. 
No, it ain't. 

Rip. 
It 's the same day I got married ? 

Nick. 
Yes. 

Rip. 
Well, I know by that. You think I forgot the 
day I got married? Oh, no, my friend; I re- 
member that day long as I live. 

Serious for a moment. Takes off his hat, 
and puts it on the table. 

Derrick. 
Ah ! Rip, I remember Gretchen then, ten 
years ago. — Zounds, how I envied you ! 

Rip. 

Looking up, surprised. 
Did you? 

Winks at Nick. Then, suddenly remembering. 

So did I. You did n't know what was comin', 
Derrick. 

Derrick. 

She was a beauty. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 47 

Rip. 
What, Gretchen? — Yes, she was. She was a 
pretty girl. My! My! Yah, we was a fine 
couple altogether. Well, come along. 

Holding out his cup to Derrick, who fills it 
from the bottle. 

Nick. 
Yes, come along. 

Takes water pitcher from table, and starts to 
fill up Rip's cup. Rip stops him. 

Rip. 

Who has been lounging against the table, sits 
on it. and puts his feet on the chair. 

Stop ! I come along mitou't that, Nick Vedder. 

Sententiously, 

Good licker and water is like man and wife. 

Derrick and Nick. 
How's that, Rip? 

Rip. 

Laughing. 

They don't agree together. I always like my 

licker single. Well, here 's your good health, 

and your families', and may they live long and 

prosper ! 

They all drink. 



4 8 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Nick. 
That's right, Rip; drink away, and drown 
your sorrow. 

Rip. 

D roily. 
Yes ; but she won't drown. My wife is my 
sorrow, and you cannick drown her. She tried 
it once, but could n't do it. 

Derrick and Nick. 
Why, how so? 

Rip. 

Puts down his cup and clasps his knee, still 
perched on the corner of the table. 

Did n't you know that Gretchen like to got 
drown? 

Derrick and Nick. 
No. 

Rip. 

Puts hat on. 

That's the funniest thing of the whole of it. 

It s the same day I got married ; she was 

comin' across the river there in the ferry-boat 

to get married mit me — 

Derrick and Nick. 
Yes. 

Rip. 
Well, the boat she was comin' in got upsetted. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 49 

Derrick and Nick. 
Ah! 

Rip. 
Well, but she was n't in it. 

Derrick and Nick. 
Oh! 

Rip. 

Explaining quite seriously. 

No, that 's what I say : if she had been in the 

boat what got upsetted, maybe she might have 

got drowned. 

More and more reflective. 

I don't know how it was she got left some- 
how or other. Women is always behind that 
way — always. 

Derrick. 
But surely, Rip, you would have risked your 
life to save such a glorious creature as she was. 

Rip. 

Incredulously. 
You mean I would yump in and pull Gretchen 
out? 

Derrick. 
Yes. 



5 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Rip. 

Oh, would I ? 

Suddenly remembering. 

Oh, you mean then — yes, I believe I would 

then. 

With simple conviction. 

But it would be more my duty now than it 

was then. 

Derrick. 
How so? 

Rip. 

Quite seriously. 
Why, you see when a feller gets married a 
good many years mit his wife, he gets very 
much attached to her 

Nick. 

Pompously. 
Ah, he does indeed. 

Rip. 

Winks at Derrick, and points at Nick with 
his thumb. 

But if Mrs. Van Winkle was a-drowning in 

the water now, an' she says to me, " Rip, come 

an' save your wife ! " I would say, " Mrs. Van 

Winkle, I will yust go home and think about 

it." Oh, no, Derrick, if ever Gretchcn tumbles 

in the water, she's got to swim now, you mind 

that. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 51 

Derrick. 

She was here just now, anxiously expecting 

you home. 

Rip. 

I know she 's keeping it hot for me. 

Nick. 
What, your dinner, Rip? 

Rip. 
No, the broomstick. 

Exit Nick into house, laughing. 

Rip. 

Confidentially. 
Derrick, whenever I come back from the 
mountains, I always stick the game-bag in the 
window and creep in behind. 

Derrick. 

Seating himself on the table by the side of 
Rip. 
Have you anything now? 

Rip. 

Dropping into the chair Derrick has just 
left. Leaning back, and putting hands 
behind his head. 

What for game? No, not a tail, I believe, 

not a feather. 

With humorous indifference. 



52 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



Derrick. 

Touching Rip on the shoulder and shaking 
a bag of money. 

Rip, suppose you were to hang this bagful of 

money inside, don't you think it would soothe 

her down, eh ? 

Rip. 

Sitting up. 
For me, is that? 

Derrick. 
Yes. 



Rip. 

With a shrewd 
glance. 

Ain't you yokin' 
mit me? 

Derrick. 
No, Rip, I 've prospered with the lands you 've 
sold me, and I '11 let you have a loan on easy 
terms. I '11 take no interest. 




Rip. 

Getting up and walking forward, with decision. 
No, I 'm afraid I might pay you again some 
day, Derrick. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 53 

Derrick. 

And so you shall, Rip, pay me when you 

please. 

Puts the bag in Rip's hands, and forces his 

ringers over it, turns, and goes to table, 

speaking as he goes. 

Say, in twenty years, — twenty years from this 

day. Ah, where shall we be then? 

Rip. 

Quizzically, and half to himself. 
I don't know about myself; but I think I can 
guess where you '11 be about that time. 

Takes chair and sits down. 

Derrick. 
Well, Rip, I'll just step into the inn and 
draw out a little acknowledgment. 

Rip. 

Who has been sitting, leaning forward with 
his elbows on his knees, softly chinking 
the bag of money in his hand, looks up 
suddenly. 

Knowledgment— for what is that? 

Derrick. 
Yes, for you to put your cross to. 



54 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Indifferently. 
All right; bring it along. 

Derrick. 
No fear of Gretchen now, eh, Rip? 

Rip. 

Plunged in thought. 
Oh, no. 

Derrick. 
You feel quite comfortable now, don't you, 
Rip? 



Oh, yah ! 



Exit into inn. 

Rip. 

Suddenly becoming serious and much mysti- 
fied at Derrick's conduct. 



Well, I don't know about that, Derrick ! 

Derrick ! 

Holding up the bag and chinking it. 

It don't chink like good money neither. It 

rattles like a snake in a hole. 

Grimly. 

Gretchen. 

Inside the cottage. 
Out with that lazy, idle cur! I won't have him 
here. Out, I sav ! 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 55 

Rip. 

I 'm glad I 'm not in there now. I believe 

that's Schneider what she's lickin' ; he won't 

have any backbone left in him. 

Sadly. 

I would rather she would lick me than the 

dog ; I 'm more used to it than he is. 

Gets up, and looks in at the window. 

There she is at the wash-tub. 

Admiring her energy, almost envying it. 

What a hard-workin' woman that is ! Well, 

somebody must do it, I suppose. 

With the air of a profound moral reflection. 

She 's comin' here now ; she 's got some 

broomstick mit her, too. 

Rip snatches up his gun and slinks off 
around the corner of the house. 

Enter Gretchen with broomstick, followed 
by Hendrick and Meenie, carrying clothes- 
basket. 

Gretchen. 
Come along, children. Now, you take the 
washing down to Dame Van Sloe's, then call at 
the butcher's and tell him that my husband has 
not got back yet, so I will have to go down 
myself to the marsh, and drive up the bull we 



56 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

have sold to him. Tell him the beast shall be 

in his stable in half an hour; so let him have 

the money ready to pay me for it. 

During this Rip has crept in and sat on the 
bench by the side of the tub behind 
Gretchen. 

Ah, it is the last head of cattle we have left. 
Houses, lands, beasts, everything gone, — every- 
thing except a drunken beast who nobody 
would buy or accept as a gift. 

Rip ! Rip ! wait until I get you home ! 

Threatening an imaginary Rip with broom- 
stick. 

With a comical grimace, Rip tiptoes back 
behind the house. 

Come, children, to work, to work ! 

Exit. 
Re-enter Rip cautiously. 

Rip. 

Laughing to himself. 

She gone to look after the bull. She better 

not try the broomstick on him ; he won't stand 

it. 

Drops into the chair with his back to the 

audience. 

Hendrick. 
Oh, Meenie, there 's your father. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 57 



RIP. 

Holds out his arms, and Meenie runs into 

them. 
Taking her in his arms, and embracing her 

with great tenderness. 

Ah, little god, was you glad to see your 
father come home? 



Meenie. 
Oh, yes ! 

Rip. 

Holding her close. 

I don't believe it, was you? Come here. 

Getting up and leading her to the chair by 
the side of the table. 

Let me look at you ; I don't see you for such 
a long time; come here. I don't deserve to 
have a thing like that belong to me. 

Takes his hat off as if in reverence. 

You're too good for a drunken, lazy feller 
like me, that 's a fact. 

Bites his underlip, looks up, and brushes 
away a tear. 

Meenie. 

Kneeling by him. 
Oh, no, you are a good papa! 



5 8 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Rip. 

No, I was n't : no good father would go and 

rob his child ; that 's what I 've done. Why, 

don't you know, Meenie, all the houses and 

lands in the village was mine — they would all 

have been yours when you grew up? Where 

they gone now? I gone drunk 'em up, that's 

where they gone. Hendrick, you just take 

warnin' by that ; that 's what licker do ; see 

that? 

Holds up the skirt of coat. 

Bring a man to hunger and rags. Is there 

any more in that cup over there? Give it to 

me. 

Drinks. 
Rip makes this confession with a childlike 
simplicity. The tears come, and he brushes 
them away once or twice. When he asks 
for the cup, at the end, it seems but the 
natural conclusion of his speech. 

Hendrick. 

Hands him cup. 
Don't cry, Rip; Meenie does not want your 
money, for when I 'm a big man I shall work 
for her, and she shall have all I get. 

Meenie. 
Yes, and I '11 have Hendrick, too. 



Yes, and I'll have Hendrich, too." 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 59 

RIP. 

Greatly amused. 

You '11 have Hendrick, too. 

With mock gravity. 
Well, is this all settled? 

Hendrick. 
Yes, Meenie and me have made it all up. 

Rip. 

I did n't know, I only thought you might 
speak to me about it; but if it's all settled, 
Meenie, then git married mit him. 

Laughing silently, and suddenly. 

You goin' to marry my daughter? well, now 

that's very kind of you. Marry one another? 

The children nod. 
Rip, with immense seriousness. 

Well, here 's your good health, and your 

family, may they live long and prosper. 

To Hendrick. 

What you goin' to do when you get married, 

and grow up and so? 

Leans forward. 

Hendrick. 
I 'm not going to stop here with father ; oh, 
no, that won't do. I 'm going with Uncle Hans 
in his big ship to the North Pole, to catch 
whales. 



60 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

RIP. 
Goin' to cotch wahales mit the North Pole? 
That's a long while away from here. 

Hendrick. 

Yes, but uncle will give me ten shillings a 
month, and I will tell him to pay it all to 
Meenie. 

Rip. 

There ! He 's goin' to pay it all to you ; 
that 's a good boy, that 's a good boy. 

Meenie. 
Yes, and I '11 give it all to you to keep for us. 

Rip. 

With one of his little explosive silent laughs. 

I would n't do that, my darlin' ; maybe if you 

give it to me, you don't get it back again. 

Hendrick ! 

Suddenly earnest. 

You shall marry Meenie when you grow up, 
but you must n't drink. 

Hendrick. 

Slapping Rip on the knee. 
I'll never touch a drop. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 61 

Rip. 

Quite seriously. 
You won't, nor me neither; shake hands upon 
it. Now we swore off together. 

With a change of tone. 
I said so so many times, and never kept my 

word once, never. 

Drinks. 

Hendrick. 
I 've said so once, and I '11 keep mine. 

Derrick. 

Outside. 
Well, bring it along with you. 

Rip. 
Here comes Derrick : he don't like some 
children; run along mit you. 

Exit children with basket. 
Enter Derrick from inn with document. 

Derrick. 

There, Rip, is the little acknowledgment. 

Handing it to him. 

Rip. 

Knowledgment. 

Putting on hat. 
For what is that? 



62 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Derrick. 
That is to say I loaned you the money. 

Rip. 

Lounging back in his chair. 

I don't want that ; I would lose it if I had it. 

Fills his cup from the bottle. 

I don't want it. 

Blandly. 

Derrick. 
Don't you? But I do. 

Rip. 

With simple surprise. 
For what? 

Derrick. 
Why, for you to put your cross to. Why, 
bless me, I've forgotten my pen and ink. 

Enter Cockles. 
But luckily here comes my nephew with it. 

Aside. 
And in time to witness the signature. 

Rip. 

Say, Derrick, have you been writing all that 

paper full in the little time you been in the 

house there? 

Turns the paper about curiously. 
Pours out more schnapps. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 63 

Derrick. 
Yes, every word of it. 

Rip. 

Have you? Well, just read it out loud to me. 
With an air of great simplicity. 

Derrick. 

Aside. 
Does he suspect? 

Aloud. 

Why, Rip, this is the first time you ever 

wanted anything more than the money. 

Rip. 

Clasping his hands behind his head with an 
air of lordly indifference. 

Yes, I know; but I got nothing to do now. 
I 'm a little curious about that, somehow. 

Cockles. 

Aside to Derrick. 
The fish has taken the ground bait, but he 's 
curious about the hook. 



Derrick. 
I dare not read a word of it. 



Aside. 



64 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Cockles. 

Aside. 
Nunkey 's stuck. 

Derrick. 
Well, Rip, I suppose you don't want to hear 
the formalities. 

Rip. 
The what? 

Derrick. 
The preliminaries. 

Rip. 

Indolently. 
I '11 take it all, — Bill, Claws, and Feathers. 
Leans forward and rests his head on his 
hand, and looks at the ground. 

Derrick. 
" Know all men by these presents that I, Rip 
Van Winkle, in consideration of the sum of 
sixteen pounds received by me from Derrick 
Von Beekman " — 

Looks around at Cockles: they wink know- 
ingly at each other. Continues as if 
reading. Watching Rip — 

Do promise and undertake to pay the same 

in twenty years from date. 

Rip looks up ; as he does so, Derrick drops 
his eyes on document, then looks as if he 
had just finished reading. 

There, now are you satisfied? 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 65 

RIP. 

Takes the document. In childlike surprise. 
Well, well, and does it take all that pen and 
ink to say such a little thing like that? 

Derrick. 
Why, of course it does. 

Cockles. 

Aside to Derrick. 
Oh, the fool ! he swallows it whole, hook and 
all. 

Rip. 

Spreading the paper on the table. 
Where goes my cross, Derrick? 

Derrick. 

Pointing. 
There, you see I 've left a nice little white 

corner for you. 

Rip. 

Folds up paper in a leisurely manner, and 
puts it in game-bag. 

W-e-1-1, I'll yust think about it. 

Looks up at Derrick, innocently. 

Derrick. 
Think about it? Why, what's the matter, 
Rip, isn't the money correct? 

5 



66 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Oh, yes, I got the money all right. 

Chuckling. 
Oh ! you mean about signing it. 

Rising. At a loss, for a moment. 
Stop, yesterday was Friday, wasn't it? 

Derrick. 

So it was. 

Rip. 

With an air of conviction. 
Well, I never do nothing like that the day 
after Friday, Derrick. 

Rip walks away towards his cottage. 

Derrick. 

Aside. 

The idiot! what can that signify? But I 

must not arouse his suspicions by pressing 

him. 

Aloud. 

You are right, Rip : sign it when you please ; 

but I say, Rip, now that you 're in funds, won't 

you help your old friend Nick Vedder, who 

owes me a year's rent? 

Rip. 

Coming back to the tabic. 
Oh, yah, I will wipe off my schore, and stand 
treat to the whole willace. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 67 

Derrick. 
Run, boy, and tell all the neighbours that Rip 
stands treat. 

Rip. 

Leans on back of chair. 
An', Cockles, tell them we '11 have a dance. 

Cockles. 

A dance ! 

Runs off. 

Derrick. 

And I '11 order the good cheer for you. 

Exit. 

Rip. 

So do ! so do ! 

Cogitating dubiously. 

I don't understand it. 

Re-enter Hendrick with the basket over his 
head, followed by Meenie. 

Oh, you've come back? 

Hendrick. 
Yes, we 've left the clothes. 

Rip. 

Meenie, you take in the basket. 

Exit Meenie with basket into cottage. 
Hendrick is following. 



68 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Hendrick, come here. 

Hendrick kneels between Rip's knees. 

So you are going to marry my daughter? 

Hendrick nods. 

So, so. That 's very kind of yer. 

Abruptly. 

Why you don't been to school to-day, you 

go to school sometimes, don't you? 

Hendrick. 
Yes, when father can spare me. 

Rip. 

What do you learn mit that school, — pretty 

much something? 

Laughing at his mistake. 

I mean, everything? 

Hendrick. 
Yes ; reading, writing, and arithmetic. 

Rip. 

Reading, and what? 

Hendrick. 
And writing, and arithmetic. 

Rip. 

Puzzled. 
Writing, and what? 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 69 

HENDRICK. 
Arithmetic. 

Rip. 

More puzzled. 
Whatmeticks is that? 

HENDRICK. 
Arithmetic. 

Rip. 

With profound astonishment and patting 
Hendrick's head. 
I don't see how the little mind can stand it 
all. Can you read? 

HENDRICK. 

Oh, yes! 

Rip. 

With a serious affectation of incredulity. 

I don't believe it; now, I'm just goin' to see 

if you can read. If you can't read, I won't let 

you marry my daughter. No, sir. 

Very drolly. 

I won't have nobody in my family what can't 

read. 

Taking out the paper that Derrick has given 

him. 
Can you read ritmatics like that? 

HENDRICK. 
Yes, that 's writing. 



7 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Rip. 

Nonplussed. 
Oh ! I thought it was reading. 

Hendrick. 
It 's reading and writing, too. 

Rip. 
What, both together. 

Suspiciously looking at the paper. 
Oh, yes ; I did n't see that before ; go long 
with it. 

Hendrick. 

Reads. 
"Know all men by these presents" — 

Rip. 

Pleased, leaning back in his chair. 
Yah! That's right, what a wonderful thing 
der readin' is ; why, you read it pretty nigh as 
good as Derrick, yes, you do ; go long. 

Hendrick. 
"That I, Rip Van Winkle" — 

Rip. 

Taking off his hat, and holding it with his 
hands behind his head. 

Yah, that's right; you read it yust as well as 

Derrick; go long. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



7i 



Hendrick. 
" In consideration of the sum of sixteen 
pounds received do hereby sell and convey to 




Derrick Von Beekman all my estate, houses, 
lands whatsoever" — 

Hat drops. 



72 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Rip. 

Almost fiercely. 
What are you readin', some ritmatics what 
ain't down there: Where you got that? 

Looking sharply at Hendrick. 



Hendrick. 

Pointing. 
There. Houses ! Lands, whatsoever. 



Rip. 

Looking not at the paper but at Hendrick 
very earnestly, as if turning over in his 
mind whether the boy has read it correctly. 
Then satisfied of the deception Derrick 
has practised upon him, and struck by 
the humour of the way in which he has 
discovered it, he laughs exultantly and 
looks towards the inn-door through which 
Derrick disappeared a short time before. 

Yes, so it is; go long mit the rest. 

He leans forward, and puts his ear close to 
Hendrick, so as not to miss a word. 



Hendrick. 

" Whereof he now holds possession by mort- 
gaged deeds, from time to time executed by 
me." 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 73 

Rip. 

Takes paper, and looks towards the inn 
fiercely exultant. 

You read it better than Derrick, my boy, 
much better. 

After a moment's pause recollects himself. 
Kindly, to Hendrick. 
That will do; run along mit you. 

Exit Hendrick. 

Rip. 

Triumphantly. 

Aha, my friend, Derrick ! I guess you got 

some snakes in the grass. Now keep sober, 

Rip; I don't touch another drop so long what 

I live; I swore off now, that's a fixed fact. 

Enter Derrick, Vedder, Stein, and villagers. 

Derrick. 
Come, Rip, we'll have a rouse. 

Rip. 

Seriously; half fiercely still. 
Here, Nick Vedder, here is the gelt; wipe off 
my score, and drink away. I don't join you ; I 
swore off. 

Nick. 
Why, Rip, you 're king of the feast. 



74 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Rip. 

Absently. Still intent on Derrick. 
Am I dat? 

Omnes. 

Swore off? What for? 

Rip. 
I don't touch another drop. 

Jacob Stein. 

Coming down towards Rip with cup. 
Come, Rip, take a glass. 

Rip. 

Turning on him, almost angry. 
Jacob Stein, you hear what I said? 

Stein. 
Yes. 

Rip. 

Firmly. 
Well, when I said a thing, I mean it. 

Leans back in chair with his hands behind 
his head. 

Stein. 
Oh, very well. 

Turns away; Nick comes down and holds 
cup under Rip's nose. Rip looks to see 
if they are watching him. He can resist 
no longer, and takes the cup. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 75 

RIP. 

Laughing. 

Well, I won't count this one. Here's your 
good health and your families', may they all live 
long and prosper. 

Derrick. 
Here come the fiddlers and the girls. 

Enter girls. 

Rip walks over and closes the shutter which 
has held his score, then returns and seats 
himself on a low stool, and keeps time to 
the music as the villagers dance. 

Finally, the rhythm tires his blood. He 
jumps to his feet, snatches one of the 
girls away from her partner, and whirls 
into the dance. After a round or two, 
he lets go of her, and pirouettes two 
or three times by himself. Once more 
he catches her in h^fs arms, and is in 
the act of embracing her, when he per- 
ceives Gretchen over her shoulder. He 
drops the girl, who falls on her knees at 
Gretchen's feet. There is a general laugh 
at his discomfiture, in which he joins half- 
heartedly. As the curtain descends, Rip 
is seen pointing at the girl as if seeking, 
like a modern Adam, to put the blame 
on her. 



Scene in the Catskill Mount a ins. 
From Painting by Joseph Jefferson. 



ACT II. 
Scene i. 

The dimly lighted kitchen of Rip's cottage. 
The door and window are at the back. 
It is night, and through the window a 
furious storm can be seen raging, with 
thunder, lightning, and rain. 

A fire smoulders on the hearth, to the right, 
and a candle gutters on the table in the 
centre ; a couple of chairs, a low stool, 
and a little cupboard, meagrely provided 
with cups and platters, complete the furni- 
ture of the room. Between the door and 
the window a clothes-horse, with a few 
garments hanging on it, forms a screen. 
To the left is a small door leading to the 
other rooms of the cottage. 

As the curtain rises, Meenie is seen sitting 
by the window, and Gretchen enters, takes 
off cloak, and throws a broomstick on the 
table. 

Gretchen. 
Meenie! Has your father come yet? 

Meenie. 
No, mother. 

Gretchen. 
So much the better for him. Never let him 
show his face in these doors a^ain — never ! 



So RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Meenie. 
Oh, mother, don't be so hard on him. 

Gretchen. 

I 'm not hard ; how dare you say so. 

Meenie approaches her. 

There, child, that father of yours is enough 

to spoil the temper of an angel. I went down 

to the marsh to drive up the bull. I don't know 

what Rip has been doing to the beast ; he was 

howling and tearing about. I barely escaped 

with my life. 

A crash outside. 

What noise is that? 

Meenie. 
That 's only Schneider, father's dog. 

Gretchen. 

Picking up broomstick. 

Then, I '11 Schneider him. I won't have him 

here. 

Exit through the door leading to the rest of 
the cottage. 

Out, you idle, vagabond cur; out, I say! 
Meenie. 

Following her to the door, and crying. 
Oh, don't, don't hurt the poor thing! 

Re-enter Gretchen. 



RIP VAX WINKLE. 81 

Gretciiex. 
He jumped out of the window before I could 
catch him. He 's just like his master. Now, 
what are you crying for? 

MEENIE. 

Because my poor father is out in all this rain. 
A peal of thunder is heard. 
Hark, how it thunders ! 

Gretciiex. 
Serve him right — do him good. Is the sup- 
per ready? 

MEENIE. 

Yes, mother; it is there by the fireside. 

Pointing to a soup-bowl by the fire. 
Shall I lay the table? 

Gretchex. 
Yes. 

Again it thunders. 

It's a dreadful night; I wonder where Rip is? 
Meenie. 

Bringing the cups and platters from the 
sideboard, together with a loaf of bread. 

Shall I lay the table for two, mother, or for 

three? 

6 



82 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 








; 



--■^J... 



Gretchen. 

Fof two, girl; he gets no supper here to-night. 

Another peal of thunder. 
Mercy, how the storm rages ! The fool, to 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 83 

stop out in such a down-pour. I hope he's 

found shelter. I must look out the old suit I 

washed and mended for him last week, and put 

them by the fire to air. The idiot, to stop out 

in such a down-pour! I'll have him sick on 

my hands next ; that 's all I want to complete 

my miser)-. 

She fetches clothes from the horse, and 
hangs them on the back of the chair in 
front of the fire. 

He knows what I am suffering now, and that's 

what keeps him out. 

Lightning. 

Mercy, what a flash that was ! The wretch 
will be starved with the cold ! Meenie ! 

MEENIE. 
Yes, mother. 

Gretchen. 

You may lay the table for three. 

Lhere is a knock at the outer door. 

There he is now ! 

Enter Hendrick, who shakes the rain from 
his hat. 

Where's Rip? Is he not at your father's? 

Hendrick. 
No; I thought he was here. 



84 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Gretciiex. 
He 's gone back to the mountain. He 's done 
it on purpose to spite me. 

Hendrick. 

Going to the fire. 

Shall I run after him, and bring him home? 

I know the road ; we 've often climbed it 

together. 

Gretchen. 

No; I drove Rip from his house, and it's for 
me to bring him back again. 

Meenie. 

Still arranging the supper-table. 
But, mother — 

She pauses, with embarrassment. 

If he hears your voice behind him, he will only 

run away the faster. 

Gretchen. 
Well, I can't help it; I can't rest under cover, 
while he is out in the storm. I shall feel better 
when I 'm outside sharing the storm with him. 
Sit down, and take your suppers. I '11 take my 
cloak along with me. 

Exit. Meenie has seated herself by the 
window. Hendrick carries stool to the 
centre of the statue, in front of the table. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 85 

H END RICK. 

Meenie ! Meenic ! 

Meenie. 
Eh? 

Hendrick beckons to her. She runs to him. 

He stops her suddenly, then puts the 
stool down with great deliberation, and 
sits on it, while Meenie kneels beside 
him. 

Hendrick. 

In a very solemn tone. 
I hope your father ain't gone to the mountains 
to-night, Meenie? 

Meenie. 

In distress. 
Oh, dear! he will die of the cold there. 

Hendrick. 

Suddenly. 

Sh! 

Meenie starts. 
It ain't for that. 

Mysteriously. 

I 've just heard old Clausen, over at father's, 

saying, that on this very night, every twenty 

years, the ghosts — 

Meenie. 

Catching his wrist. 
The what? 



86 



RIP VAX WINKLE. 
Hexdrick. 



In an awed tone. 
The ghosts of Hendrick Hudson, and his 
pirate crew, visit the Kaatskills above here. 

The two children look around, frightened. 




Meenie. 

Oh, dear! did he say so? 



Sh! 



Hexdrick. 

Again they look around, frightened. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 87 

Yes; and the spirits have been seen there 
smoking, drinking, and playing at tenpins. 

Meexie. 
Oh, how dreadful ! 

Hendrick. 
Sh! 

He goes cautiously to the chimney, and 
looks up. while Meenie looks under the 
table ; then, he returns to the stool, 
speaking as he comes. 

Yes; and every time that Hendrick Hudson 
lights his pipe there's a flash of lightning 

Lightning, and Meenie gives a gasp of fear. 

And when he rolls the balls along, there is a 
peal of thunder. 

Loud rumble of thunder. :Jeenie screams, 
and throws herself into Hendrick's arms. 
Don't be frightened, Meenie; I'm here. 

In a frightened tone, but with a manly effort 
to be courageous. 

Re-enter Gretchen with her cloak. 

Gretciikx. 
Here, stop that ! 

The children separate quickly. Hendrick 
looks up at the ceiling and whistles, 
with an attempt at unconsciousness, and 
Meenie assumes an innocent and uncon- 
cerned expression. 



88 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



Now, don't you be filling that child's head with 
nonsense, but remain quietly here until I return. 

Hush, what noise is that? 
There is some one out- 
side the window. 

She steps behind the 
clothes-horse. Rip ap- 
pears at the window, 
which he opens, and 
leans against the frame. 




Rip. 



Meenie ! 



Meexieaxd Hexdrick. 

Trying to make him per- 
ceive Gretchen, by a 
gesture in her direc- 
tion. 

Sh! 
Rip turns, and looks a- 
round outside to see 
what they mean, then, 
discovering nothing, 
drops his hat in at 
the window, and calls 
again, cautiously. 

Rip. 



Meenie ! 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 89 

Meenie and Hendrick. 

With the same warning gesture. 

Sh! 

Gretchen shakes her fist at the children, 
who assume an air of innocence. 

Rip. 

What's the matter? Meenie, has the wild-, 

cat come home? 

Rip reaches in after his hat. Gretchen 
catches him by his hair, and holds his 
head down. 

Och, my darlin', don't do that, eh ! 
Hendrick and Meenie. 

Who run towards Gretchen. 
Don't, mother ! Don't, mother ! Don't ! 

Rip. 

Imitating their tone. 
Don't, mother, don't ! Don't you hear the 
children? Let go my head, won't you? 

Getting angry. 

Gretchen. 

Still holding his head down. 
No ; not a hair. 

Rip. 

Bantering. 
Hold on to it then, what do I care? 



9 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Hexdrick and Meenie. 

Catching Gretchen's dress. 
Don't, mother ! Don't, mother ! Don't ! 

Gretchen lets go of Kip, and turns upon 
them. They escape, and disappear through 
the door to the left. 

Rip. 

Getting in through the window, and coming 
forward, apparently drunk, but jolly; and 
his resentment for the treatment he has 
just received is half humourous. 

For what you do dat, hey? You must want 

a bald-headed husband, I reckon ! 

Gretchen picks up chair, and bangs it down; 
Rip imitates her with the stool. She sits 
down, angrily, and slaps the table. Rip 
throws down his felt hat with a great 
show of violence, and it makes no noise, 
then seats himself on the stool. 

Gretchen. 

Now, then ! 

Rip. 

Now, den; I don't like it den, neider. 

When Rip is drunk, his dialect grows more 
pronounced. 

Gretchf.n. 
Who did vou call a wildcat? 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 91 

RIP. 

With a sudden little tipsy laugh, and con- 
fused. 

A wildcat — dat \s when I come in at the 

window? 

G RETCH EX. 

Yes; that's when you came in the window. 

Rip. 

Rising, and with a tone of finality. 
Yes; that's the time I said it. 

GRETCHEX. 
Yes; and that's the time I heard it. 

Rip. 

With drunken assurance. 
That 's all right ; I was afraid you would n't 
hear it. 

Gretchex. 

Now, who did you mean by that wildcat? 

Rip. 

Confused. 
Who did I mean? Now, let me see. 

Gretchex. 
Yes; who did you mean? 



9 2 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

RIP. 
How do I know who-oo I mean? 

With a sudden inspiration. 
Maybe, it 's the dog Schneider, I call that. 

Gretchen. 

Incredulously. 
The dog Schneider; that's not likely. 

Rip. 

Argumentative!)?. 

Of course it is likely; he's my dog. I'll 

call him a wildcat much as I please. 

Conclusively. 
He sits down in the chair on which his 
clothes are warming, in front of the lire. 

Gretchen. 

And then, there's your disgraceful conduct 

this morning. What have you got to say to 

that? 

Rip. 

How do I know what I got to say to that, 
when I don't know what I do-a, do-a? 

Hiccoughs. 
Gretchen. 
Don't know what you do-a-oo ! Hugging 
and kissing the girls, before my face; you 
thought I would n't see you. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 95 

RIP. 

Boldly. 

I knowed you would — I knowed you would; 
because, because — ■ 

Losing the thread of his discourse. 
Oh-h, don' you bodder me. 

He turns, and leans his head against the 
back of the chair. 

Gretchen. 
You knew I was there? 



Laughing. 



Rip. 

I thought I saw you. 

Gretchen. 
I saw you myself, dancing with the girl. 

Rip. 
You saw the girl dancin' mit me. 

Gretchen remembers Rip's clothes, and goes 
over to see if he is wet, and pushes him 
towards the centre of the stage. Rip 
mistakes her intention. 

You want to pull some more hair out of my 
head? 

Gretchen. 

Why, the monster ! He is n't wet a bit ! 
He 's as dry as if he 'd been aired ! 



9 6 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Of course I 'm dry. 

Laughing. 
I'm always dry — always dry. 

Gretchen. 

Examines game-bag, and pulls out a flask, 
which she holds under Rip's nose. 

Why, what's here? Why, it's a bottle — a 

bottle ! 

Rip. 

Leaning against the table. 
Yes; it's a bottle. 

Laughs. 

You think I don't know a bottle when I 

see it? 

Gretchen. 

That's pretty game for your game-bag, ain't 

it? 

Rip. 

Assuming an innocent air. 
Somebody must have put it there. 

Gretchen. 

Putting the flask in her pocket. 
Then, you don't get it again. 

Rip. 

With a show of anger. 
Now mind if I don't get it again — well — all 
there is about it — 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 97 

Breaking clown. 
I don't want it. I have had enough. 

With a droll air of conviction. 

Gretchen. 
I 'm glad you know when you 've had enough. 

Rip. 
Still leaning against the table. 
That 's the way mit me. I 'm glad I know 

when I got enough — 

Laughs. 

An' I 'm glad when I 've got enough, too. Give 
me the bottle ; I want to put it in the game-bag. 

Gretchen. 
For what? 

Rip. 

Lounging off the table, and coming forward 
and leaning his arms on Gretchen's 
shoulders. 

So that I can't drink it. Here 's the whole 

business — 

He slides his hand down to Gretchen's pocket, 
and tries to find the bottle while he talks 
to her. 

Here 's the whole business about it. What is 
the use of anybody — well — wash the use of 
anybody, anyhow — well — oh — 

Missing the pocket. 
7 



9 8 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

What you talkin' 'bout — 

Suddenly his hand slips into her pocket, and 
he begins to pull the bottle out, with great 
satisfaction. 

Now, now I can tell you all 'bout it. 
Gretchen. 

Discovering his tactics, and pushing him away. 

Pshaw ! 

Rip. 

If you don't give me the bottle, I just break 

up everything in the house. 

Gretchen. 
If you dare ! 

Rip. 

If I dare ! Have n't I done it two or three 

times before? I just throw everything right out 

of the window. 

Rip throws the plates and cups on the floor, 
and overturns a chair, and seats himself on 
the table. Gretchen picks them up again. 

Gretchen. 

Don't, Rip ; don't do that ! Now stop, Rip, 

stop ! 

Gretchen bangs down a chair by the table, 

and seats herself. 
Now, then, perhaps you will be kind enough to 
tell where you 've been for the last two days. 
Where have you been? Do you hear? 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



99 



Rip. 
Where I've been? Well, it's not my bottle, 
anyhow. I borrowed that bottle from another 
feller. You want to know where I been? 

GRETCHEN. 
Yes ; and I will know. 

Rip. 

Good-humouredly. 
Let me see. Last night I stopped out all 
night. 

GRETCHEN. 
But why? 

Rip. 

Why? You mean the reason of it? 

GRETCHEN. 
Yes, the reason. 

Rip. 

Inconsequently. 
The reason is why? Don't bother me. 

GRETCHEN. 

Emphasising each word with a bang on the 
table. 
Why — did — you — stop — out — all — night? 

Rip. 

Imitating her tone. 
Because — I — want — to — get — up — early 

— in — the — morning. 

Hiccough. 



ioo RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Come, don't get so mad mit a feller. Why, 
I 've been fillin' my game-bag mit game. 

Rip gets down off the table, and Gretchen 
comes towards him and feels his game-bag. 

Gretchen. 
' Your game-bag is full of game, isn't it? 

Rip. 

Taking her hand and holding it away from 
her pocket. 

That? Why, that would n't hold it. 

Finding his way into Gretchen's pocket. 
Now I can tell you all about it. You know 
last night I stopped out all night — 

Gretchen. 
Yes ; and let me catch you again. 

He is pulling the bottle out, when Gretchen 
catches him, and slaps his hand. 

You paltry thief! 

Rip. 
Oh, you ain't got no confidence in me. Now 
what do you think was the first thing I saw in 
the morning? 

Dragging a chair to the front of the stage. 

Gretchen. 
I don't know. What? 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 101 

RIP. 

Seating himself. 
A rabbit. 

GRETCHEN. 

Pleased. 
I like a rabbit. I like it in a stew. 

Rip. 

Looking at her, amused. 
I guess you like everything in a stew — every- 
thing what 's a rabbit I mean. Well, there was a 
rabbit a-feedin' mit the grass, — you know they 
always come out early in der mornin' and feed 
mit the grass ? 

Gretchen. 
Never mind the grass. Go on. 

Rip. 

Don't get so patient ; you wait till you get the 

rabbit. 

Humourously. 
Well, I crawl up — 

Gretchen. 
Yes, yes ! 

Rip. 

Becoming interested in his own powers of 
invention. 

An' his little tail was a-stickin' up so — 

With a gesture of his forefinger. 



102 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Gretchen. 

Impatiently. 
Never mind his tail. Go on. 

Rip. 

Remonstrating at her interruption. 
The more fatter the rabbit, the more whiter is 
his tail — 

Gretchen. 
Well, well, go on. 

Rip. 

Taking aim. 
Well, I haul up — 

Gretchen. 
Yes, yes ! 

Rip. 

And his ears was a-stickin' up so — 

Making the two ears with his two forefingers. 

Gretchen. 
Never mind his ears. Go on. 

Rip. 
I pull the trigger. 



Gretchen. 
Bang went the gun, and — 



Eagerly. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 103 

Rip. 



And the rabbit run away. 

Gretchen. 
And so you shot nothing ? 



Seriously. 



Angrily. 



Rip. 
How will I shot him when he run away? 

He laughs at her disappointment. 

There, don't get so mad mit a feller. Now I 'm 

going to tell you what I did shot; that 's what I 

did n't shot. You know that old forty-acre field 

of ours? 

Gretchen. 

Scornfully. 
Ours! Ours, did you say? 

Rip. 

Shamefacedly. 
You know the one I mean well enough. It 
used to be ours. 

Gretchen. 

Regretfully. 
Yes ; it used, indeed ! 

Rip. 
It ain't ours now, is it? 



104 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Gretchex. 

Sighing. 
No, indeed, it is not. 

Rip. 
No? Den I would n't bodder about it. Better 
let somebody bodder about that field what belongs 
to it. Well, in that field dere 's a pond ; and 
what do you think I see in that pond? 

Gretchen. 

I don't know. Ducks? 

Rip. 
Ducks ! More an' a thousand. 

Gretchen. 

Walking to where broomstick is. 
More than a thousand ducks? 

Rip. 
I haul up again — 

Gretchen. 

Picking up broomstick. 

Yes, and so will I. And if you miss fire this 

time — 

She holds it threateningly over Rip's shoulder. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



io 5 



RIP. 

Looking at it askance out of the corner of 

his eye, then putting up his hand and 

pushing it aside. 

You will scare the ducks mit that. Well, I 

take better aim this time as I did before. I pull 

the trigger, and — bang ! 

Gretchen. 
How many down? 

Rip. 



Indifferently. 



One. 



Gretchen. 

Indignantly. 
What! only one duck out of a thousand? 

Rip. 
Who said one duck? 

Gretchen. 

You did. 

Rip. 

Getting up, and leaning on the back of the 
chair. 
I did n't say anything of the kind. 

Gretchen. 



You said "one." 



Rip. 



Ah ! One. But I shot more as one duck. 



io6 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



Did you 



GRETCHEN. 



Rip. 



:-^^SpE^, 



Crosses over, and sits on the low stool, and 

laughs silently. 

I shot our old bull. 

Gretchen flings down 
the broomstick, 
and throws her- 
self into the chair 
at the right of the 
table, in dumb 

I did n't kill him. 
I just sting him, you 
know. Well, then 
the bull come right 
after me ; and I come 
right away from him. 
O Gretchen, how you 
would laugh if you 
could see that — 

With a vain appeal to her sense of humour, 
the bull was a-comin', and I was a-goin. Well, 
he chased me across the field. I tried to climb 
over the fence so fast what I could, — 

Doubles up with his silent laugh. 




RIP VAN WINKLE. 107 

an' the bull come up an' save me the trouble of 
that. Well, then, I rolled over on the other side. 

GRETCHEN. 

With disgust. 

And then you went fast asleep for the rest of 

the day. 

Rip. 

That 's a fact. That 's a fact. 

Gretchen. 

Bursting into tears, and burying her head in 
her arms on the table. 

Rip, you '11 break my heart! You will. 

Rip. 
Now she gone crying mit herself! Don't cry, 
Gretchen, don't cry. My d-a-r-1-i-n', don't cry. 

Gretchen. 

Angrily. 

1 will cry ! 

Rip. 

Cry 'way as much you like. What do I care? 

All the better soon as a woman gets cryin' ; den 

all the danger 's over. 

Rip goes to Gretchen, leans over, and puts 
his arm around her. 



ioS 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



Gretchen, don't cry; my angel, don't. 

He succeeds in getting his hand into her 
pocket, and steals the bottle. 




: 



Don't cry, my daarlin'. 

Humourously. 

Gretchen, won't you give me a little drop out 

of that bottle what you took away from me? 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 109 

He sits on the table, just behind her, and 
takes a drink from the bottle. 

Gretchen. 
Here 's a man drunk, and asking for more. 

Rip. 

I was n't. I swore off. 

Coaxingly. 

You give me a little drop, an' I won't count it. 
Gretchen. 

Sharply. 

No! 

Rip. 

Drinking again. 
Well, den, here 's your good health, an' your 
family, and may they live long and prosper ! 

Puts bottle in his bag. 

Gretchen. 
You unfeeling brute. Your wife \s starving. 
And, Rip, your child 's in rags. 

Rip. 

Holding up his coat, and heaving a sigh of 
resignation. 

Well, I 'm the same way ; you know dat. 
Gretchen. 

Sitting up, and looking appealingly at Rip. 
Oh, Rip, if you would only treat me kindly ! 



no RIP VAN WINKLE. 

RIP. 

Putting his arms around her. 
Well, den, I will. I 'm going to treat you 
kind. I '11 treat you kind. 

Gretchen. 

Why, it would add ten years to my life. 
Rip. 

Over her shoulder, and after a pause. 
That's a great inducement; it is, my darlin'. 
I know I treat you too bad, an' you deserve to 
be a widow. 

Gretchen. 

Getting up, and putting her arms on Rip's 
shoulders. 

Oh, Rip, if you would only reform ! 

Rip. 
Well, den, I will. I won't touch another drop 
so long what I live. 

Gretchen. 
Can I trust you? 

Rip. 
You must n't suspect me. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. in 

Gretchen. 

Embracing him. 
There, then, I will trust you. 

She takes the candle, and goes to fetch the 
children. 

Here, Hendrick, Meenie. Children, where are 
you ? 

Exit through the door on the left. 

Rip. 

Seats himself in the chair to the right of the 
table, and takes out flask. 

Well, it 's too bad ; but it 's all a woman's fault 
any way. When a man gets drinkin' and that, 
they ought to let him alone. So soon as they 
scold him, he goes oft' like a sky-rocket. 

Re-enter Gretchen and the children. 

Gretchen. 

Seeing the flask in Rip's hand. 
I thought as much. 

Rip. 

Unconscious of her presence. 

How I did smooth her down ! I must drink 
her good health. Gretchen, here 's your good 

health. 

About to drink. 



ii2 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Gretchen. 

Snatching the bottle, and using it to gesticu- 
late with. 

Oh, you paltry thief! 

Rip. 

Concerned for the schnapps. 

What you doin'? You'll spill the licker out 

of the bottle. 

He puts in the cork. 

Gretchen. 

Examining the flask. 
Why, the monster, he 's emptied the bottle ! 

Rip. 
That 's a fac'. That 's a fac'. 

Gretchen. 

Throwing down the flask. 
Then that is the last drop you drink under my 

roof! 

Rip. 

What ! What ! 

Meenie approaches her father on tiptoe, and 
kneels beside him. 

Gretchen. 
Out, you drunkard ! Out, you sot ! You 
disgrace to your wife and to your child ! This 
house is mine. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 113 

RIP. 

Dazed, and a little sobered. 
Yours ! Yours ! 

Gretchen. 

Raising her voice above the storm, which 
seems to rage more fiercely outside. 

Yes, mine, mine ! Had it been yours to sell, it 

would have gone along with the rest of your 

land. Out, then, I say — 

Pushing open the door. 

for you have no longer any share in me or mine. 

A peal of thunder. 

Meenie. 

Running over, and kneeling by Gretchen. 
Oh, mother, hark at the storm ! 

Gretchen. 

Pushing her aside. 
Begone man, can't you speak ? Are you struck 
dumb ? You sleep no more under my roof. 

Rip. 

Who has not moved, even his arm remaining 
outstretched, as it was when Meenie slipped 
from his side, murmurs in a bewildered, 
incredulous way. 

Why, Gretchen, are you goin' to turn me out 

like a dog? 

s 



ii 4 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Gretchen points to the door. Rip lises and 
leans against the table with a groan. His 
conscience speaks. 

Well, maybe you are right. 

His voice breaks, and with a despairing 
gesture. 

I have got no home. I will go. But mind, 
Gretchen, after what you say to me to-night, I 
can never darken your door again — never — 

Going towards the door, 
I will go. 

Hendrick. 

Running to Rip. 
Not into the storm, Rip. Hark, how it 
thunders ! 

Rip. 

Putting his arm round him. 
Yah, my boy; but not as bad to me as the 
storm in my home. I will go. 

At the door by this time. 

MEENIE. 

Catching Rip's coat. 

No, father, don't go ! 

Rip. 

Bending over her tenderly, and holding her 
close to him. 

My child ! Bless you, my child, bless you ! 

Meenie faints. Rip gives a sobbing sigh. 



No ; yon have driven me from your bouse. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 115 

Gretchen. 

Relenting. 
No, Rip — I — 

Rip. 

Waving her off. 

No ; you have drive me from your house. You 

have opened the door for me to go. You may 

never open it for me to come back. 

Leans against the doorpost, overcome by his 
emotion. His eye rests on Meenie, who 
lies at his feet. 

You say I have no share in this house. 

Points to Meenie in profound despair. 

Well, see, then, I wipe the disgrace from your 

door. 

He staggers out into the storm. 

Gretchen. 
No, Rip ! Husband, come back ! 

Gretchen faints, and the curtain falls. 



ACT III. 
Scene i. 

A steep and rocky clove in the Kaatskill 
Mountains, down which rushes a torrent, 
swollen by the storm. Overhead, the hem- 
locks stretch their melancholy boughs. It 
is night. Rip enters, almost at a run, 
with his head down, and his coat-collar 
turned up, beating his way against the 
storm. With the hunter's instinct, he pro- 
tects the priming of his gun with the 
skirt of his jacket. Having reached a 
comparatively level spot, he pauses for 
breath, and turns to see what has become 
of his dog;. 



Rip. 

Whistling to the dog. 

Schneider! Schneider! What's the matter 

with Schneider? Something must have scared 

that dog. There he goes head over heels down 

the hill. Well, here I am again— another night 

in the mountains ! Heigho ! these old trees 

begin to know me, I reckon. 

Taking off his hat. 

How are you, old fellows? Well, I like the 

trees, they keep me from the wind and the rain, 

and they never blow me up ; and when I lay me 



120 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

down on the broad of my back, they seem to 
bow their heads to me, an' say : Go to sleep, 

Rip, go to sleep. 

Lightning. 

My, what a flash that was! Old Hendrick 

Hudson 's lighting his pipe in the mountains 

to-night; now, we '11 hear him roll the big balls 

along. 

Thunder. 

Rip looks back over the path he has come, 

and whistles again for his dog. 

Well, I — no — Schneider ! No ; whatever it 
is, it's on two legs. Why, what a funny thing 
is that a comin' up the hill? I thought nobody 
but me ever come nigh this place. 

Enter a strange dwarfish figure, clad all in 
gray like a Dutch seaman of the seven- 
teenth century, in short-skirted doublet, 
hose, and high-crowned hat drawn over 
his eyes. From beneath the latter his 
long gray beard streams down till it 
almost touches the ground. He carries a 
keg on his shoulder. He advances slowly 
towards Rip, and, by his gesture, be^s Rip 
to set the keg clown for him. Rip does 
so, and the dwarf seats himself upon it. 

Rip. 

With good-humoured sarcasm. 
Sit down, and make yourself comfortable. 

A long pause and silence. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 123 

What? What's the matter? Ain't ye goin' 
to speak to a feller? I don't want to speak to 
you, then. Who you think you was, that I 
want to speak to you, any more than you want 
to speak to me; you hear what I say? 

Rip pokes the dwarf in the ribs, who turns, 
and looks up. Rip retreats hastily. 

Donner an' Blitzen ! What for a man is das? 
I have been walking over these mountains ever 
since I was a boy, an' I never saw a queer- 
looking codger like that before. He must be 
an old sea-snake, I reckon. 

The dwarf approaches Rip, and motions 
Rip to help him up the mountain with 
the keg. 

Rip. 

Well, why don't you say so, den? You 
mean you would like me to help you up with 

that keg? 

The dwarf nods in the affirmative. 

Well, sir, I don't do it. 

The dwarf holds up his hands in supplica- 
tion. 
No ; there 's no good you speakin' like that. 
I never seed you before, did I ? 

The dwarf shakes his head. Rip, with 
great decision, walking away, and leaning 
against a tree. 



i2 4 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

I don't want to see you again, needer. What 
have you got in that keg, schnapps? 

The dwarf nods. 
I don't believe you. 

The dwarf nods more affirmatively. 

Is it good schnapps? 

The dwarf again insists. 

Well, I'll help you. Go 'long pick up my 
gun, there, and I follow you mit that keg on my 
shoulder. I '11 follow you, old broadchops. 

As Rip shoulders the keg, a furious blast 
whirls up the valley, and seems to carry 
him and his demon companion before 
it. The rain that follows blots out the 
landscape. For a few moments, all is 
darkness. Gradually, the topmost peak 
of the Kaatskill Mountains becomes visi- 
ble, far above the storm. Stretching 
below, the country lies spread out like a 
map. A feeble and watery moonlight 
shows us a weird group, gathered upon the 
peak, — Hendrick Hudson, and his ghostly 
crew. In the foreground, one of them 
poises a ball, about to bowl it. while the 
others lean forward in attitudes of watch- 
ful expectancy. Silently he pitches it: 
and, after a momentary pause, a long 
and rumbling peal of thunder reverberates 
among the valleys below. 

At this moment, the demon, carrying Rip's 
gun, appears over the crest of the peak 
in the background, and Rip toils after 



f 



' ' What 's the matter with Schneider ? " 

From Painting', — the figure by F. Eugene Smith: the landscape 
background by Joseph Jefferson. 



Scene in Catskill Mountains. 
Frora Painti "S by Joseph Jefferson. 



" No one remembers Rip Van Winkle.'" 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



127 



with the keg on his shoulder. Arrived at 
the summit, he drops the keg on his knee, 
and gasps for breath. 

Rip. 

Glancing out over the landscape. 

I say, old gentleman, I never was so high up- 

in the mountains before. Look down into the 

valley there; it seems more as a mile. I — 

Turning to speak to his companion, and 
perceiving another of the crew. 

You 're another feller ! 

The second demon nods assent. 

You're that other chap's brother? 

The demon again assents. Rip carries the 
keg a little further, and comes face to 
face with a third. 

Rip. 

You 're another brother? 

The third demon nods assent. Rip takes 
another step, and perceives Hendrick Hud- 
son in the centre, surrounded by many 
demons. 

You're his old gran'father? 

Hudson nods. Rip puts down the keg in 
perplexity, not untinged with alarm. 

Donner and Blitzen ! here's the whole family;. 
I 'm a dead man to a certainty. 



128 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

The demons extend their arms to Hudson, 
as if inquiring what they should do. He 
points to Rip, they do the same. 

Rip. 
My, my, I suppose they 're speakin' about 

me ! 

Looking at his gun, which the first demon 
has deposited on the ground, and which 
lies within his reach. 

No good shootin' at 'em ; family 's too big 

for one gun. 

Hendrick Hudson advances, and seats him- 
self on the keg facing Rip. The demons 
slowly surround the two. 

Rip. 

Looking about him with growing apprehension. 

My, my, I don't like that kind of people at 

all ! No, sir ! I don't like any sech kind. I 

like that old gran'father worse than any of 

them. 

With a sheepish attempt to be genial, and 
appear at his ease. 

How you was, old gentleman? I did n't mean 

to intrude on you, did I? 

Hudson shakes his head. 
What? 

No reply. 

I'll tell you how it was; I met one of your 
gran'children, I don't know which is the one — 

Glancing around. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 129 

They're all so much alike. Well — 

Embarrassed, and looking at one demon. 

That 's the same kind of a one. Any way 

this one, he axed me to help him up the 

mountain mit dat keg. Well, he was an old 

feller, an' I thought I would help him. 

Pauses, troubled by their silence. 

Was I right to help him? 

Hudson nods. 

I say, was I right to help him? 

Hudson nods again. 

If he was here, he would yust tell you the 
same thing any way, because — 

Suddenly perceiving the demon he had met 
below. 

Why, dat 's the one; ain't it? 

The demon nods. 
Yes ; dat is the one, dat 's the same kind of 
a one dat I met. Was I right to come? 

Hudson nods approval. 

I didn't want to come here, anyhow; no, sir, 

I did n't want to come to any such kind of a 

place. 

After a pause, seeing that no one has any- 
thing to say. 

I guess I better go away from it. 

Rip picks up his gun, and is about to return 
by the way he came ; but the demons raise 

9 



i 3 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 

their hands threateningly, and stop him. 
He puts his gun down again. 

I did n't want to come here, anyhow — 

Grumbling to himself, then pulling him- 
self together with an effort, and facing 
Hudson. 

Well, old gentleman, if you mean to do me 

any harm, just speak it right out — • 

Then with a little laugh. 

Oh ! I will die game — 

Glancing round for a means of escape, and 

half to himself. 

If I can't run away. 

Hudson extends a cup to Rip, as if inviting 
him to drink. 

Rip. 

Doubtfully. 
You want me to drink mit you? 

Hudson nods. Rip approaches him cau- 
tiously, unable to resist the temptation of 
a drink. 

Well, I swore off drinkin' ; but as this is the 

first time I see you, I won't count this one — 

He takes the cup. Hudson holds up an- 
other cup. Rip is reassured, and his old 
geniality returns. 

You drink mit me? We drink mit one 

another? 



RIP VAX WINKLE. 



*33 



Hudson nods affirmatively. Rip feels at 
home under these familiar circumstances, 
and becomes familiar and colloquial again. 

What's the matter mit you, old gentleman, 

anyhow? You go and make so 

Imitating the demon. 

mit your head every time; was you deaf? 

Hudson shakes his head. 

Oh, nein. 

Laughing at his error. 

If you was deaf, you would n't hear what I 

was savin'. Was you dumb? 

Hudson nods yes. 
So? You was dumb? 

Hudson nods again. 

Has all of your family the same complaint? 

Hudson nods. 

All the boys dumb, hey? All the boys dumb. 

All the demons nod. Then, suddenly, as if 
struck with an idea. 

Have you got any girls? 

Hudson shakes his head. 

Don't you? Such a big family, and all boys? 

Hudson nods. 

Rip, 

With profound regret. 

That's a pity; my, that's a pity. Oh, my, 

if you had some dumb girls, what wives they 

would make — 

Brightening up. 



i 3 4 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Well, old gentleman, here's your good health, 

and all your family — 

Turning, and waving to them. 

may they live long and prosper. 

Rip drinks. As he does so, all the demons 
lean forward, watching the effect of the 
liquor. Rip puts his hand to his head. 
The empty cup falls to the ground. 

Rip. 

In an awed and ecstatic voice. 
What for licker is that ! 

As he turns, half reeling, he sees Hudson 
holding out to him another cup. He 
snatches it with almost frantic eagerness. 

Rip. 
Give me another one ! 

He empties it at a draught. A long pause 
follows, during which the effect of the 
liquor upon Rip becomes apparent; the 
light in his eyes fades, his exhilaration dies 
out, and he loses his grasp on the reality 
of his surroundings. Finally, he clasps 
his head with both hands, and cries in a 
muffled, terrified voice. 

Rip. 

Oh, my, my head was so light, and now, 

it's heavy as lead'! 

He reels, and falls heavily to the ground. 
A long pause. The demons begin to 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



J 35 



disappear. Rip becomes dimly conscious 
of this, and raises himself on his elbow. 

Rip. 

Are you goin' to leave me, boys ? Are you 

goin' to leave me all alone? Don't leave me; 

don't go away. 

With a last effort. 

I will drink your good health, and your 

family's — 

He falls back heavily, asleep. 



[curtain.] 



ACT IV. 

Scene i. 

As the curtain rises, the same high peaks of 
the Kaatskills, and the far-stretching valley 
below, are disclosed in the gray light of 
dawn. 

Rip is still lying on the ground, as in the last 
act ; but he is no longer the Rip we knew. 
His hair and beard are long and white, 
bleached by the storms that have rolled 
over his head during the twenty years he 
has been asleep. 

As he stirs and slowly rises to a half-sitting 
posture, we see that his former picturesque 
rags have become so dilapidated that it is 
a matter of marvel how they hold together. 
They have lost all traces of colour, and 
have assumed the neutral tints of the moss 
and lichens that cover the rocks. 

His voice, when he first speaks, betrays even 
more distinctly than his appearance the 
lapse of time. Instead of the full round 
tones of manhood, he speaks in the high 
treble of feeble old age. His very hands 
have grown old and weatherbeaten. 

Rip. 

Staring vacantly around. 

I wonder where I was. On top of the Kaat- 

skill Mountains as sure as a gun ! Won't my wife 



140 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



give it to me for stopping out all night? I must 

get up and get home with myself. 

Trying to rise. 

Oh, I feel very bad ! Vat is the matter with 

my elbow? 

In trying to rub it, the other one gives him 
such a twinge that he cries out. 




Oh ! The other elbow is more badder than 
the other one. I must have cotched the rheuma- 
tix a-sleepin' mit the wet grass. 

He rises with great difficulty. 

Och ! I never had such rhcumatix like that. 

He feels himself all over, and then stands for 
a moment pondering, and bewildered by a 
strange memory. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



141 



I was n't sleeping all the time, needer. I know 
I met a queer kind of a man, and we got drinkin', 




and I guess I got pretty drunk. Well, I must 
pick up my gun, and get home mit myself. 



1 42 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

After several painful attempts, he succeeds in 
picking up his gun, which drops all to 
pieces as he lifts it. Rip looks at it in 
amazement. 

My gun must have cotched the rheumatix 
too. Now that 's too bad. Them fellows have 
gone and stole my good gun, and leave me this 
rusty old barrel. 

Rip begins slowly to climb over the peak 
towards the path by which he had ascended, 
his memory seeming to act automatically. 
When he reaches the highest point, where 
he can look out over the valley, he stops in 
surprise. 

Why, is that the village of Falling Waters that 

I see? Why, the place is more than twice the 

size it was last night. I — 

He sinks down. 

I don't know whether I am dreaming, or sleep- 
ing, or waking. 

Then pulling himself together with a great 
effort, and calling up the image of his wife 
to act as whip and spur to his waning pow- 
ers, he says, with humourous conviction, as 
he gets up painfully again : — 

I go home to my wife. She '11 let me know 
whether I 'm asleep or awake or not. 

Almost unable to proceed. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 145 

I don't know if I will ever get home, my k-nees 

are so stiff. My backbone, it 's broke already. 

As the curtain falls, Rip stands leaning on 
the barrel of his gun as on a staff, with 
one hand raised, looking out over the valley. 



Scene ii. 

A comfortable-looking room in Derrick's 
house. As the curtain rises, Meenie and 
Gretchen enter. Meenie is a tall young 
woman of twenty-six, and Gretchen is a 
matronly figure with white hair. They are 
well dressed, and have every appearance of 
physical and material prosperity. 

Gretchen. 
I am sent to you by your father, Meenie. 

Meenie. 
Oh, don't call him so; he is not my r father! 
He is your husband, mother; but I owe him no 
love. And his cruel treatment of you — 

Gretchen. 
Hush, child ! Oh, if he heard you, he would 
make me pay for every disrespectful word you 
utter. 



146 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Meenie. 

Yes; he would beat you, starve and degrade 
you. You are not his wife, mother, but his 
menial. 

GRETCHEN. 

My spirit is broken, Meenie. I cannot resent 
it. Nay, I deserve it ; for as Derrick now treats- 
me, so I treated your poor father when he was 
alive. 

Meenie. 

You, mother? You, so gentle ? You, who are 
weakness and patience itself? 

Gretchen. 

Yes ; because for fifteen years I have been 
Derrick's wife. But it was my temper, my 
cruelty, that drove your father from our home 
twenty years ago. You were too young then to 
remember him. 

Meenie. 

No, mother, I recollect my dear father taking 
me on his knee, and saying to Hendrick that I 
should be his wife ; and I promised I would. 

Gretchen. 
Poor Rip ! Poor, good-natured, kind creature 
that he was ! How gently he bore with me ; and 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 147 

I drove him like a dog from his home. I hunted 
him into the mountains, where he perished of 
hunger or cold, or a prey to some wild beast. 

Meenie. 
Don't cry, mother ! 

Enter Derrick, now grown old and bent over 
his cane, and infinitely more disagreeable 
than before. He, too, has thriven, and is 
dressed in a handsome full suit of black 
silk. 

Derrick. 
Snivelling again, eh? Teaching that girl of 
yours to be an obstinate hypocrite? 

Meenie. 
Oh, sir, she — 

Derrick. 
Hold your tongue, miss. Speak when you 're 
spoken to. I '11 have you both to understand that 
there 's but one master here. Well, mistress, 
have you told her my wishes ; and is she pre- 
pared to obey them? 

Gretchen. 
Indeed, sir, I was trying to — 

Derrick. 
Beating about the bush, prevaricating, and 
sneaking, as you usually do. 



148 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Meexie. 
If you have made her your slave, you must 
expect her to cringe. 

Derrick. 

Approaching her threateningly. 
What's that? 

Gretchen. 

Meenie ! Meenie! For Heaven's sake, do not 
anger him ! 

Derrick. 

Raising his cane. 
She had better not. 

Meenie. 

Defiantly. 

Take care how you raise your hand to me, for 

I '11 keep a strict account of it. And when Hen- 

drick comes back from sea, he '11 make you smart 

for it, I promise you. 

Derrick. 
Is the girl mad? 

Meexie. 
He thrashed your nephew once for being inso- 
lent to me. Go and ask him how Hendrick pays 
my debts ; and then when you speak to me you '11 
mind your stops. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Derrick. 
Oh, you shall pay for this ! 



149 



To Gretchen. 




Gretciien. 
No, Derrick, indeed, indeed I have not urged 
her to this ! O Meenie, do not speak so to him ; 
for my sake forbear ! 

Meenie. 
For your sake, yes, dear mother. I forgot 
that he could revenge himself on you. 



150 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Derrick. 
As for your sailor lover, Hendrick Vedder, 
I 've got news of him at last. His ship, the 
" Mayflower," was lost, three years ago, off Cape 
Horn. 

Meenie. 
No, no. Not lost? 

Derrick. 
If you doubt it, there 's the " Shipping Ga- 
zette," in on my office table. You can satisfy 
yourself that your sailor bully has gone to the 
bottom. 

Gretchen. 
Oh, sir, do not convey the news to her so 
cruelly. 

Derrick. 
That 's it. Because I don't sneak and trick and 
lie about it, I 'm cruel. The man 's dead, has 
been dead and gone these two years or more. 
The time of mourning is over. Am I going to 
be nice about it this time of day? 

Meenie. 
Then all my hope is gone, gone forever ! 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 151 

Derrick. 
So much the better for you. Hendrick's 
whole fortune was invested in that ship. So 
there 's an end of him and your expectations. 
Now you are free, and a beggar. My nephew 
has a fancy for you. He will have a share of my 
business now, and my money when — when I 
die. 

Gretchen. 

Do not ask her to decide now ! 

Derrick. 
Why not? If she expects to make a better 
bargain by holding off, she 's mistaken. 

Gretchen. 
How can you expect her to think of a husband 
at this moment? 

Derrick. 
Don't I tell you the other one is dead these 
two years? 

Gretchen. 

Leading Meenie away 
Come, my child. Leave her to me, sir; I will 
try and persuade her. 



iS 2 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



Derrick. 
Take care that you do ; for if she don't consent 
to accept my offer, she shall pack bag and bag- 
gage out of this house. Aye, this very day ! 
Not a penny, not a stitch of clothes but what 
she has on her back, shall she have ! Oh, I 've 
had to deal with obstinate women before now, 
and I 've taken them down before I 've done 
with them. You know who I mean? Do you 
know who I mean? Stop. Answer me! Do 
you know who I mean ? 



Submissively. 



Gretchen. 
Yes, sir. 

Derrick. 
Then why did n't you say so before? Sulky, 
I suppose. There, you may be off. 

Exeunt. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 15. 



Scene hi. 

The village of Falling Waters, which has 
grown to be a smart and flourishing 
town, but whose chief features remain 
unchanged. 
To the left, as of yore, is the inn, bearing 
scarcely any mark of the lapse of time, 
save that the sign of George III. has 
been replaced by a portrait of George 
Washington. To the right, where Rip's 
cottage used to stand, nothing remains, 
however, but the blackened and crumbling 
ruins of a chimney. A table and chairs 
stand in front of the Inn porch. 
Into this familiar scene Rip makes his 
entrance, but not as before, — in glee, with 
the children clinging about him. Faint, 
weak, and weary he stumbles along, 
followed by a jeering, hooting mob of 
villagers ; while the children hide from 
him in fear, behind their elders. His 
eyes look dazed and uncomprehending, 
and he catches at the back of a chair 
as if in need of physical as well as mental 
support. 

KATCHEN. 

As Rip enters. 

Why, what queer looking creature is this, 

that all the boys are playing — 

Seth. 
Why, he looks as though he'd been dead 
for fifty years, and dug up again ! 



*54 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



RIP. 
My friends, Kanst du Deutsch sprechen? 




First Villager. 
I say, old fellow, you ain't seen anything of 
an old butter-tub with no kiver on, no place 
about here, have you? 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 155 

Rip. 
Bewildered, but with simplicity. 
What is that? I don't know who that is. 

Second Villager. 

I say, old man, who's your barber? 

The crowd laughs, and goes off repeating, 
" Who 's your barber?" Some of the chil- 
dren remain to stare at Rip: but when he 
holds out his hand to them, they, too, 
run off frightened. 

Rip. 

Who's my barber; what dey mean by dat? 

Noticing his beard. 

Why, is that on me? I didn't see that 

before. My beard and hair is so long and 

white — Gretchen won't know me with that, when 

she gets me home. 

Looking towards the cottage. 

Why, the home 's gone away ! 

Rip becomes more and more puzzled, like 
a man in a dream who sees unfamiliar 
things amid familiar surroundings, and 
cannot make out what has happened; 
and as in a dream a man preserves his in- 
dividuality, so Rip stumbles along through 
his bewilderment, exhibiting flashes of his 
old humour, wit, and native shrewdness. 
But with all this he never laughs. 



i 5 6 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Seth. 
I say, old man, hadn't you better go home 
and get shaved? 

Rip. 

Looking about for the voice. 
What? 

Seth. 
Here, this way. Had n't you better go home 
and get shaved? 

Rip. 

My wife will shave me when she gets me 
home. Is this the village of " Falling Waters," 
where we was? 

SETH. 
Yes. 

Rip. 

Still more puzzled, not knowing his face. 
Do you live here? 

Seth. 

Well, rather. I was born here. 

Rip. 

Reflectively. 
Then you live here? 

Setii. 
Well, rather; of course I do. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 157 

RIP. 

Feeling that he has hold of something 
certain. 

Do you know where I live? 

Seth. 
No ; but I should say you belong to Noah's 
Ark. 

Rip. 

Putting his hand to his ear. 
That I belong mit vas ? 

Seth. 

Noah's Ark. 

Rip. 

Very much hurt. 

Why will you say such thing like that? 

Then, with a flash of humour, and drawing 
his beard slowly through his fingers. 

Well, look like it, don't I? 

Beginning all over again to feel for his clue. 
My friend, did you never hear of a man in 
this place whose name was Rip Van Winkle? 

Seth. 
Rip Van Winkle, the laziest, drunken vagabond 
in the country? 



15S RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Rip. 

Somewhat taken aback by this description, 
but obliged to concur in it. 

Yah, that is the one ; there is no mistaking 
him, eh? 

Seth. 
I know all about him. 



Rip. 
Do you? 



Hopefully 



Seth. 

Yes. 

Rip. 

Quite eagerly. 
Well, if you know all about him ; well, what 
has become of him? 

Seth. 
What has become of him ? Why, bless your 
soul, he 's been dead these twenty years ! 

Rip. 

Looking at Seth. 

Then I am dead, I suppose. So Rip Van 

Winkle was dead, eh? 

Seth. 
Yes; and buried. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 159 

Rip. 

Humourously. 
I 'm sorry for that ; for he was a good fellow, 
so he was. 

Seth. 

Aside. 
There appears to be something queer about 
this old chap ; I wonder who he is. 

Rises, and taking chair over to Rip. 
There, old gentleman, be seated. 

Rip. 

Seating himself with great difficulty, aided 
by Seth. 

Oh, thank you ; every time I move a new 

way, I get another pain. My friend, where is 

the house what you live in? 

Seth. 

Pointing at inn- 
There. 

Rip. 
Did you live there yesterday? 

Seth. 
Well, rather. 

Rip. 
No ; it is Nick Vedder what live in that house- 
Where is Nick Vedder? 



i6o RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Seth. 
Does he? Then I wish he 'd pay the rent for 
it. Why, Nick Vedder has been dead these fif- 
teen years. 

Rip. 

Did you know Jacob Stine, what was with him? 

Seth. 
No ; but I 've heard of him. He was one of 
the same sort as Rip and Nick. 

Rip. 
Yes, them fellows was all pretty much alike. 

Seth. 
Well, he went off the hooks a short time after 
Rip. 

Rip. 
Where has he gone ? 

Seth. 
Off the hooks. 

Rip. 
What is that, when they go off the hooks? 

Seth. 
Why, he died. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 161 

Rip. 

With an air of hopelessness. 
Is there anybody alive here at all? 

Then, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, 
convinced of the impossibility of what he 
hears. 

That mail is drunk what talks to me. 

Seth. 
Ah, they were a jolly set, I reckon. 

Rip. 

Oh, they was. I knowed them all. 

Seth. 
Did you? 

Rip. 

Yes, I know Jacob Stine, and Nick Vedder, 
and Rip Van Winkle, and the whole of them. 

A new idea strikes him, and he beckons to 
Seth, whom he asks, very earnestly. 

Oh, my friend, come and see here. Did you 
know Schneider? 

Seth. 
Schneider ! Schneider ! No, I never heard of 
him. 

Rip. 

Simply. 

He was a dog. I thought you might know 

him. Well, if dat is so, what has become of my 

ii 



1 62 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

child Meenie, and my wife Gretchen? Are they 

gone, too? 

Turning to look at the ruins of the house. 

Yah, even the house is dead. 

Seth. 

Poor old chap ! He seems quite cast down at 

the loss of his friends. I '11 step in and get a 

drop of something to cheer him up. 

Exit. 

Rip. 

Puzzling it out with himself. 

I can't make it out how it all was ; because if 

this here is me, what is here now, and Rip Van 

Winkle is dead, then who am I ? That is what I 

would like to know. Yesterday, everybody was 

here ; and now they was all gone. 

Very forlorn. 
Re-enter Seth, followed by the villagers. 

Seth. 

Offering Rip the cup. 
There, old gent, there 's a drop of something 

to cheer you up. 

Rip. 

Shaking hands with Seth and Katchen. 
Oh, thank you. I — I — I swore off; but this 
is the first time what I see you. I won't count 
this one. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 163 

His voice breaks. 

My friend, you have been very kind to me. 

Here is your good health, and your family's, and 

may they all live long and prosper ! 

Seth. 
I say, wife, ain't he a curiosity fit for a show? 

Rip. 

Aside. 

That gives me courage to ask these people 

anodder question. . 

i He begins with difficulty. 

My friend, I don't know whether you knowed 
it or not, but there was a child of Rip,- Meenie 

her name was. 

Seth. 

Oh, yes; that's all right. 
Rip. 

With great emotion, leaning forward. 
She is not gone? She is not dead? No, no! 

Seth. 
No. She 's alive. 

Rip. 

Sinking back with relief. 
Meenie is alive. It 's all right now, - all right 
now. 



164 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



Seth. 

She 's the prettiest girl in the village. 

Rip. 
I know dat. 

Seth. 

But if she wastes her time waiting on Hen- 
drick Vedder, she '11 be a middle-aged wo- 
man before long. 

Rip. 

Incredulously. 
She's a little 
child, only six 
years old. 

Seth. 
Six - and - 
twenty, you 
mean. 

Rip. 

Thinking they 
are making 
fun of him. 

She 's a little child no bigger than that. Don't 

bodder me ; I don't like that. 

Seth. 

Why, she 's as big as her mother. 




RIP VAN WINKLE. 165 

Rip. 

Very much surprised that Seth knows Gretchen. 
What, Gretchen? 

Seth. 
Yes, Gretchen. 

Rip. 
Is n't Gretchen dead? 

Seth. 
No ; she 's alive. 

Rip. 

With mixed emotions. 
Gretchen is alive, eh ! Gretchen 's alive ! 

Seth. 
Yes ; and married again. 

Rip. 

Fiercely 

How would she do such a thing like that? 

Seth. 
Wh^^easj^-en^agb?- After Rip died, she was 
a widow, was n't she? 

Rip. 
Oh, yes. I forgot about Rip's being dead. 
Well, and then? 




1 66 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Seth. 
Well, then Derrick made love to her. 

Rip. 

Surprised, and almost amused. 
What for Derrick? Not Derrick Von Beek- 
man? 

Seth. 
Yes, Derrick Von Beekman. 

Rip. 

Still more interested. 
Well, and then? 

Seth. 
Well, then her affairs went bad ; and at last she 
married him. 

Rip. 

Turning it over in bis mind. 
Has Derrick married Gretchen? 

Seth. 
Yes. 

Rip. 

With a flash of his old humour, but still with 
no laughter. 

Well, I did n't think he would come to any 

good ; I never did. So she cotched Derrick, eh ! 

Poor Derrick ! 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 167 

Seth. 

Yes. 

Rip. 

Well, here 's their good health, and their fam- 
ily's, and may they all live long and prosper ! 

Drinks. 

Seth. 
Now, old gent, had n't you better be going 
home, wherever that is? 

Rip. 

With conviction. 
Where my home was? Here's where it is. 

Seth. 
What, here in this village? Now do you think 
we 're going to keep all the half-witted strays 
that choose to come along here? No; be off 
with you. Why, it's a shame that those you 
belong to should allow such an old tramp as you 
to float around here. 

Villagers. 

Roughly, and trying to push him along. 
Yes ; away with him ! 

Rip. 

Frightened, and pleading with them. 
Are you going to drive me away into the hills 
aeain ? 



1 68 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

First Villager. 
Yes ; away with him ! He 's an old tramp. 

Enter Hendrick, with stick and bundle, fol- 
lowed by some of the women of the village. 

Villagers. 
Away with him ! 

Hendrick. 

Throwing down bundle. 
Avast there, mates. Where are you towing 
that old hulk to? What, you won't? 

Pushing crowd aside, and going forward. 
Where are you towing that old hulk to? 

Seth. 
Who are you? 

Hendrick. 

I 'm a man, every inch of me ; and if you doubt 

it, I '11 undertake to remove the suspicions from 

any two of you in five minutes. Ain't you 

ashamed of yourselves? Don't you see the poor 

old creature has but half his wits? 

Seth. 
Well, this is no asylum for worn out idiots. 

Villagers. 

Coming forward. 
No, it ain't! 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 169 

Hendrick. 

Ain't it? 

Omnes. 
No, it ain't. 

Hendrick. 

Then I '11 make it a hospital for broken heads 
if you stand there much longer. Clear the decks, 
you lubberly swabs ! 

Drives them aside. Turns to Rip, who stands 
bewildered. 

What is the cause of all this? 



Helplessly. 



To villagers. 



Rip. 
I don't know; do you? 

Hendrick. 
Do any of you know him? 

First Villager. 
No ; he appears to be a stranger. 



Hendrick. 

To Rip. 
You seem bewildered. Can I help you? 

Rip. 

Feebly. 
Just tell me where I live. 



170 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Hendrick. 
And don't you know? 

Rip. 
No, I don't. 

Hendrick. 

Why, what's your name? 

Rip. 

Almost childishly. 

I don't know ; but I believe I know vat it used 

to be. My name, it used to be Rip Van Winkle. 

Villagers. 

In astonishment. 
Rip Van Winkle ? 

Hendrick. 
Rip Van Winkle? Impossible ! 

Rip. 

Pathetically feeble, and old. 

Well, I would n't swear to it myself. I tell 

you how it was : Last night, I don't know about 

the time, I went away up into the mountains, 

and while I was there I meet a queer kind o' man, 

and we got drinkin' ; and I guess I got pretty 

drunk. And then I went to sleep ; and when I 

woke up this morning, I was dead. 

All laugh. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 171 

HENDRICK. 
Poor old fellow ; he 's crazy. Rip Van Winkle 
has been dead these twenty years. I knew him 
when I was a child. 

RIP. 

Clutching at a faint hope. 
You don't know me? 

HENDRICK. 
No ; nor anybody else here, it seems. 

The villagers, finding that there is to be no 
amusement for them, straggle off to their 
occupations. 

Seth. 

As he goes into the inn. 
Why, wife, he 's as cracked as our old teapot. 

Rip. 

With simple pathos. 
Are we so soon forgot when we are gone? 
No one remembers Rip Van Winkle. 

HENDRICK. 
Come, cheer up, my old hearty, and you shall 
share my breakfast. 

Assists Rip to sit at the table. Rip has 
fallen into a dream again. 

To Katchen. 

Bring us enough for three, and of your best. 



1 72 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Katchen. 

That I will. 

Exit into inn. 

Hendrick. 

So here I am, home again. And yonder 's the 

very spot where, five years ago, I parted from 

Meenie. 

Rip. 

Roused by the name. 
What, Meenie Van Winkle? 

Hendrick. 

And she promised to remain true to Hendrick 

Vedder. 

Rip. 

Oh, yah ; that was Nick Vedder's son. 
Hendrick. 

Turning to Rip. 
That 's me. 

Rip. 

Resentfully. 

That was you ! You think I 'm a fool? He 's 

a little child, no bigger than that, — the one I 

mean. 

Hendrick. 

How mad he is ! 

Enter Katchen from inn with tray, on which 
is laid a breakfast. She puts it on table, 
and exits into inn. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 173 

There, that 's right. Stow your old locker full 
while I take a cruise around yonder house, where, 
five years ago, I left the dearest bit of human 
nature that was ever put together. I '11 be back 
directly. 

Who comes here? It 's surely Derrick and his 
wife. Egad, I 'm in luck; for now the old birds 
are out, Meenie will surely be alone. I '11 take 
advantage of the coast being clear, and steer into 
harbour alongside. 

Exit. Enter Derrick, followed by Gretchen. 

Derrick. 

So you have come to that conclusion, have 

you ? 

Gretchen. 

I cannot accept this sacrifice. 
Rip. 

Starting from his reverie, and turning to 
look at her. 

Why, that is Gretchen's voice. 

As he recognises her, and sees how aged 
. she is. 

My, my ! Is that my wife ? 

Derrick. 
Oh, you can't accept ! Won't you kindly allow 
me a word on the subject? 



i 7 4 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Rip. 

Aside, humourously. 
No, indeed, she will not. Now, my friend, you 
are going to cotch it. 

GRETCHEN. 
There is a limit even to my patience. Don't 
drive me to it. 

Rip. 

Aside, drolly. 

Take care, my friend, take care. 

Derrick. 

Look you, woman; Meenie has consented to 

marry my nephew. She has pledged her word 

to do so on condition that I settle an annuity 

on you. 

GRETCHEN. 

I won't allow my child to break her heart. 

Derrick. 

You won't allow? Dare to raise your voice, 

dare but to speak except as I command you, 

you shall repent it to the last hour of your 

life. 

Rip. 

Expectantly. 
Now she '11 knock him down, flat as a flounder. 



RIP VAN WINKLE, 175 

Derrick. 

Sneeringly. 
You won't allow? This is something new. 
Who are you ; do you think you are dealing, 
with your first husband? 

Gretchen. 
Alas, no ; I wish I was. 

Rip. 

Lost in wonderment. 

My, my, if Rip was alive, he never would 

have believed it ! 

Derrick. 
So you thought to get the upper hand of me, 
when you married me ; did n't you ? 

Gretchen. 
I thought to get a home for my little girl — 
shelter, and food ; want drove me to your door, 
and I married you for a meal's victuals for my 
sick child. 

Derrick. 
So you came to me as if I was a poor-house, 
eh ? Then you can't complain of the treat- 
ment you received. You sacrificed yourself for 



i-j6 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



Meenie ; and the least she can do now, is to do 
the same for you. In an hour, the deeds will be 
ready. Now, just you take care that no insolent 
interference of yours spoils my plans ; do you 
hear? 

Gretchen. 
Yes, sir. 




Derrick. 
Why can't you 
be kind and affec- 
tionate to her, as I 
am to you. There, 
go and blubber over her; that's your way. You 
are always pretending to be miserable. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 177 

Gretchen. 
Alas, no, sir ! I am always pretending to be 
happy. 

Derrick. 
Don't cry. I won't have it; come now, none 
of that. If you come home to-day with red 
eyes, and streaky cheeks, I '11 give you some- 
thing to cry for; now you know what's for 

supper. 

Exit. 

Rip. 

Still amazed. 
Well, if I had n't seen it, I never would have 
believed it ! 

Gretchen. 

Absorbed in her grief. 

Oh, wretch that I am, I must consent, or that 

man will surely thrust her out of doors to starve, 

to beg, and to become — 

Seeing Rip. 

Yes, to become a thing of rags and misery, 
like that poor soul. 

Rip. 
She always drived the beggars away; I sup- 
pose I must go. 

Getting up, and starting to go. 



i 7 8 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Gretchen. 

Taking penny from her pocket. 

Here, my poor man, take this. It is only a 

penny; but take it, and may God bless you, 

poor wanderer, so old, so helpless. Why do 

you come to this strange place, so far from 

home? 

Rip. 

Keeping his face turned away from her. 
She don't know me ; she don't know me ! 

Gretchen. 
Are you alone in the world? 

Rip. 

Trying to bring himself to look directly at 
Gretchen. 

My wife asks me if I 'm alone. 

Gretchen. 
Come with me. How feeble he is ; there, lean 
on me. Come to yonder house, and there you 
shall rest your limbs by the fire. 

Gretchen takes his arm, and puts it in her 
own. As they move towards her house, 
Rip stops, and, with an effort, turns and 
looks her full in the face, with a penetrat- 
ing gaze, as if imploring recognition, but 
there is none; and, sadly shaking his head, 
he shrinks into himself, and allows her to 
lead him totterintr off. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 179 

Scene iv. 

The same room in Derrick's home as in 
Scene II. 

Enter Derrick. 

Derrick. 
I don't know what women wore invented for, 
except to make a man's life miserable. I can get 
a useful, hard-working woman to keep my house 
clean, and order my dinner for me, for half that 
weak snivelling creature costs me. 

Enter Cockles. 

Cockles. 
Well, uncle, what news; will she have me? 

Derrick. 
Leave it to me; she must, she shall. 

Cockles. 
If she holds out, what are we to do? It was 
all very well, you marrying Rip's widow, that 
choked off all inquiry into his affairs; but here 's 
Meenie, Rip's heiress, who rightly owns all this 
property ; if we don't secure her, we 're not 
safe. 

Derrick. 
You 've got rid of Hendrick Vedder ; that 's 
one obstacle removed. 



i8o RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Cockles. 
I'm not so sure about that. His ship was 
wrecked on a lonely coast ; but some of the 
crew may have, unfortunately, been saved. 

Derrick. 
If he turns up after you're married, what 
need you care? 

Cockles. 
I'd like nothing better; I'd like to see his 
face when he saw my arm around his sweet- 
heart — my wife. But if he turns up before 
our marriage — 

Derrick. 
I must put the screw on somewhere. 

Cockles. 
I '11 tell you, Meenie will do anything for her 
mother's sake. Now you are always threatening 
to turn her out, as she turned out Rip. That's 
the tender place. Meenie fears more for her 
mother, than she cares for herself. 

Derrick. 
Well, what am I to do? 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 181 

Cockles. 
Make Gretchen independent of you ; settle 
the little fortune on her, that you are always 
talking about doing, but never keeping your 
word. The girl will sell herself to secure her 
mother's happiness. 

Derrick. 
And it would be a cheap riddance for me. I 
was just talking about it to Gretchen this morn- 
ing. You shall have the girl ; but I hope you 
are not going to marry her out of any weak 
feeling of love. You 're not going to let her 
make a fool of you by and by? 

Cockles. 
I never cared for her until she was impudent 
to me, and got that sailor lover of hers to 
thrash me ; and then I began to feel a hunger 
for her I never felt before. 

Derrick. 
That's just the way I felt for Gretchen. 

Cockles. 
'T ain't revenge that I feel ; it 's enterprise. I 
want to overcome a difficulty. 



182 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 
Derrick. 



Chuckling. 

And so you shall. Come, we '11 put your 

scheme in train at once; and let this be a warn- 




ing to you hereafter, never marry another man's 

widow. 

Cockles. 

No, uncle; I'll take a leaf out of your book, 

and let it be a warning to her. 

Exeunt. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. x s 3 



Scene v. 

A plain sitting-room in Derrick's house. A 
table stands in the centre with several 
chairs around it. There are cups, a jug, 
and a work-basket on the table. As the 
curtain rises, Meenie is discovered seated 
by the table. 

Meenie. 
Why should I repine? Did my mother hesi- 
tate to sacrifice her life to make a home for me? 
No ; these tears are ungrateful, selfish. 

The door at the back opens, and Gretchen 
enters, leading Rip, who seems very feeble 
and a little wild. 

Gretchen. 
Come in and rest awhile. 

Rip. 
This your house, your home? 

Gretchen. 
Yes. Meenie, Meenie, bring him a chair. 

Rip. 

Turning aside so as to shield his face from 
Meenie. 

Is that your daughter? 



184 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Gretchen. 

That is my daughter. 

Rip. 

Looking timidly at Meenie, as Gretchen 
helps him into a chair. 

I thought you was a child. 
Gretchen. 

Crossing to go into another room, and 
speaking to Meenie, who starts to follow 
her. 

Stay with him until I get some food to fill his 
wallet. Don't be frightened, child, he is only 
a simple, half-witted creature whose misery has 
touched my heart. 

Exit. Meenie takes her work-basket, and 
starts to follow. 

Rip. 

Holding out his hand to detain her, and 
speaking with hardly suppressed excite- 
ment. 
One moment, my dear. Come here, and let 

me look at you. 

Pathetically. 

Are you afraid? I won't hurt you. I only 

want to look at you; that is all. Wont you 

come? 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



iS = 



Meenie puts down her work-basket ; and Rip 
is relieved of his great fear that she might 
leave him. His excitement increases as 
he goes on in his struggle to make her 
recognise him. 

Yes; I thought you would. Oh, yah, that is 

Meenie ! But you are grown ! 

Meenie smiles. 





But see the smile and the eyes ! That is just 
the same Meenie. You are a woman, Meenie. 
Do you remember something of your father? 



1 86 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

He looks at her eagerly and anxiously, as if 
on her answer hung his reason and his 
life. 

Meenie. 
I do. I do. Oh, I wish he was here now ! 

Rip. 

Half rising in his chair, in his excitement. 
Yah? But he is n't? No? No? 

Meenie. 
No; he 's dead. I remember him so well. No 
one ever loved him as I did. 

Rip. 

No; nobody ever loved me like my child. 

Meenie. 

Never shall I forget his dear, good face. Tell 

me — 

Rip. 

Eagerly and expectantly. 
Yah? — 

Meenie. 

Did you know him? 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 187 

Rip. 

Confused by her question, and afraid to 
answer. 

Well— I thought I did. But I — When I 
say that here, in the village, the people all laugh 
at me. 

Meenie. 

He is wandering. 

She starts to go. 

Rip. 

Making a great effort of will, and resolved 
to put the question of his identity to the 
test. 

Don't go away from me. I want you to look 

at me now, and tell me if you have ever seen me 

before. 

Meenie. 

Surprised. 
No. 

Rip. 

Holding out his arms to her. 
Try, my darlin,' won't you ? 

Meenie. 

Frightened. 
What do you mean? Why do you gaze so 
earnestly and fondly on me? 



1 88 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Rip. 

Rising from his chair, in trembling excite- 
ment, and approaching her. 

I am afraid to tell you, my dear, because if 

you say it is not true, it may be it would break 

my heart But, Meenie, either I dream, or I am 

mad ; but I am your father. 

Meenie. 
My father ! 

Rip. 
Yes ; but hear me, my dear, and then you will 

know. 

Trying to be logical and calm, but labouring 
under great excitement. 

This village here is the village of Falling 

Waters. Well, that was my home. I had here 

in this place my wife Gretchen, and my child 

Meenie — little Meenie — 

A long pause, during which he strives to 
re-assemble his ideas and memories more 
accurately. 

and my dog Schneider. That 's all the family 

what I 've got. Try and remember me, dear, 

won't you ? 

Pleadingly. 

I don't know when it was — This night there 

was a storm ; and my wife drived me from my 



"Ah, my child! Somebody knows me now! " 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 189 

house; and I went away — I don't remember any 
more till I come back here now. And see, I get 
back now, and my wife is gone, and my home is 
gone. My home is gone, and my child — my 
child looks in my face, and don't know who I 

am ! 

Meenie. 

Rushing into his arms. 
I do ! Father ! 

Rip. 

Sobbing. 
Ah, my child ! Somebody knows me now ! 
Somebody knows me now ! 

Meenie. 
But can it be possible? 

Rip. 

Oh, yah ; it is so, Meenie ! 

With a pathetic return of his uncertainty. 

Don't say it is not, or you will kill me if you 

do. 

Meenie. 

No. One by one your features come back to 

my memory. Your voice recalls that of my 

dear father, too. I cannot doubt; yet it is so 

strange. 

Rip. 

Yah, but it is me, Meenie ; it is me. 



190 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Meenie. 

I am bewildered. Surely mother will know 
you. 



Rip. 
No, I don't believe she'll know me. 



Smilinsr. 



Meenie. 

She can best prove your identity. I will call 

her. 

Rip. 

No. You call the dog Schneider. He '11 
know me better than my wife. 

They retire to a sofa in the background, 
where Rip sits with his arm around 
Meenie. * 

Enter Derrick, with documents. 

1 In reply to a question, why Rip should sit with his arm 
around Meenie, during the next scene, when the other persons 
in the drama are present, and are still ignorant of his identity, 
Mr. Jefferson said : " The other persons are occupied with 
their own affairs, and are not supposed to see this. It is 
natural that Rip should embrace his daughter whom he has 
just found ; but the others are not supposed to see it. It is 
like a side speech on the stage. I went to a Chinese theatre 
once, and after the Chinese lady got through with her song, 
they brought her a glass of gin ; she turned her back to the 
audience, and drank it, as much as to say, 'That's not in the 
play.' We are dealing with the impossible all the time on the 
stage ; and we have got to make it appear possible. Dramati- 
cally, things may often be right, when, realistically, they are 
wrong. What we do is often the result of averaging the 
thing, determining how far good taste will admit of an error, 
you see; like the discord in music, — not good in itself, but 
good in its place." 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 19 1 

Derrick. 

What old vagabond is this? 

Meenie starts to resent insult. 

Rip. 
Don't you say a word. 

Derrick. 

Here, give him a cold potato, and let him go. 
To Gretchen, who has entered, followed by 
Cockles. Gretchen seats herself in the 
chair at the right of the table. 
Come you here, mistress. Here are the papers 
for the young couple to sign. 

Cockles. 

Aside. 
And the sooner the better. Hush, uncle. 
Hendrick is here. 

Derrick. 

Young Vedder? Then we must look sharp. 

To Gretchen. 

Come, fetch that girl of yours to sign this 

deed. 

Gretchen. 

Never shall she put her name to that paper 

with my consent. Never. 



1 92 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Derrick. 
Dare you oppose me in my own house? Dare 
you preach disobedience under my roof? 

Gretchen. 
I dare do anything when my child's life 's at 
stake. No, a thousand times, no ! You shall not 
make of her what you have of me. Starvation 
and death are better than such a life as I lead. 

Derrick. 

Raising cane. 
Don't provoke me. 

Gretchen. 

Kneeling. 

Beat me, starve me. You can only kill me. 

After all, I deserve it. 

Rising. 

But Meenie has given her promise to Hendrick 

Vedder, and she shall not break her word. 

Cockles. 

Seated at right of table. 
But Hendrick Vedder is dead. 

The door is flung open, and Hendrick enters. 

Hendrick. 
That 's a lie ! He 's alive ! 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 193 

Gretchen AND Meenie. 

Rushing to him. 
Alive ! 

Hendrick. 

To Meenie. 

I 've heard all about it. They made you 

believe that I was dead. 

To Derrick. 
Only wait till I get through here. 

Embracing Meenie. 

What a pleasure I 've got to come ! 

To Derrick. 

And what a thrashing I 've brought back for 

you two swabs. 

Derrick. 

Angrily. 

Am I to be bullied under my own roof by a 

beggarly sailor? Quit my house, all of you. 

Seizes Gretchen, and drags her away from 
the crowd. 

As for you, woman, this is your work, and I '11 
make you pay for it. 

Gretchen. 
Hendrick, save me from him. He will kill me. 

Hendrick. 
Stand off! 



I94 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Derrick. 
No ; she is my wife, mine. 



Raisins: cane. 



Gretchen. 
Heaven help me, I aril ! 

Rip has risen from the sofa, and come for- 
ward, and leans against the centre of the 
table, with one hand in his game-bag. He 
is fully awake now, and has recovered all 
his old shrewdness. 

Rip. 
Stop. I am not so sure about that. If that is 
so, then what has become of Rip Van Winkle? 

Cockles. 
He 's dead. 

Rip. 
That's another lie. He's no more dead than 
Hendrick Vedder. Derrick Von Beekman, you 
say this house and land was yours? 

Derrick. 
Yes. 

Rip. 

Where and what is the paper what you wanted 
Rip Van Winkle to sign when he was drunk, but 
sober enough not to do it? 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 195 

Taking an old paper out of game-bag, and 
turning to Hendrick. 

Have you forgot how to read? 

Hendrick. 

No. 

Rip. 

Then you read that. 

Hendrick takes the document from Rip, and 
looks it over. 

Derrick. 
What does this mad old vagabond mean to 

say? 

Rip. 

I mean, that is my wife, Gretchen Van Winkle. 

GRETCHEN. 

Rushing to Rip. 

Rip ! Rip ! 

Cockles. 

I say, uncle, are you going to stand that? That 

old impostor is going it under your nose in fine 

style. 

Derrick. 

I 'm dumb with rage. 

To the villagers, who have come crowding in. 
Out of my house, all of you ! Begone, you 
old tramD ! 



196 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Hendrick. 

Stay where you are. 

To Derrick. 

This house don't belong to you. Not an acre 

of land, not a brick in the town is yours. They 

have never ceased to belong to Rip Van Winkle ; 

and this document proves it. 

Derrick. 
'T is false. That paper is a forgery. 

Hendrick. 
Oh, no, it is not ; for I read it to Rip twenty 
years ago. 

Rip. 
Clever boy ! Clever boy ! Dat 's the reason I 
did n't sign it then, Derrick. 

Derrick. 

Approaching Hendrick. 
And do you think I 'm fool enough to give up 
my property in this way? 

Hendrick. 
No. You 're fool enough to hang on to it, 
until we make you refund to Rip every shilling 
over and above the paltry sum you loaned him 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 197 

upon it. Now, if you are wise, you '11 take a hint. 
There 's the door. Go ! And never let us see 
your face again. 

Rip. 

Yah ; give him a cold potato, and let him go. 

Exit Derrick in a great rage. All the vil- 
lagers laugh at him. Hendrick follows 
him to the door. 

Cockles. 

Kneeling by Meenie. 

Meenie ! Meenie ! 

Hendrick. 

Coming down, and taking him by ear. 

1 '11 Meenie you ! 

Takes him and pushes him out. All the 
villagers laugh. Meenie gives Rip a chair. 

Gretchen. 

Kneeling by the side of Rip. 

O Rip ! I drove you from your home ; but 

do not desert me again. I '11 never speak an 

unkind word to you, and you shall never see a 

frown on my face. And Rip — 

Rip. 

Yah. 



198 RIP VAN WINKLE. 

Gretchen. 
You may stay out all night, if you like. 

Rip. 

Leaning back in his chair. 
No, thank you. I had enough of that. 

Gretchen. 
And, Rip, you can get tight as often as you 
please. 

Taking bottle, and filling the cup from it. 

Rip. 
No ; I don't touch another drop. 

Meenie. 

Kneeling by the other side of Rip. 
Oh, yes, you will, father. For see, here are all 
the neighbours come to welcome you home. 

Gretchen offers Rip the cup. 

Rip. 

With all his old kindliness and hospitality- 
Well, bring in all the children, and the neigh- 
bours, and the dogs, and — 

Seeing the cup which Gretchen is offering 
to him. 

I swore off, you know. Well, I won't count 
this one ; for this will go down with a prayer. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



99 



I will take my cup and pipe, and tell my 
strange story to all my friends. Here is my 
child Meenie, and my wife Gretchen, and my boy 
Hendrick. I '11 drink all your good health, and 
I '11 drink your good health, and your families', 
and may they all live long and prosper ! 



[CURTAIN.] 



Lb 19 



